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winetae · 5 years

Text

wall to wall (m.) 01

↳ in a pornographic movie, refers to a series of sex scenes with no plot.

⇁ female reader x hoseok

⇁ smut, porn star!au

⇁ sex work, insecurity, jealousy, slut shaming/objectification (not the sexy kind), role played scenario that includes: d/s dynamics - dom!hoseok, porn star level dirty talk, stuff that should never happen in a kitchen bc hygiene, daddy kink, impreg kink, rough sex, spanking, a lot of finger sucking, this fic is a poor attempt at social commentary

⇁ 22.5k

. . .

Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman. Your agent comes forward with a proposition to help put you back on the map.

↳ or, my contribution to the lights, camera, action collab : )

part 01 | part 02 | part 03

author’s note | inspired by the piece ‘slut-shaming: pornstars are humans too’ & the life after porn documentaries on netflix. thank u to jordan, eva, amy, venus, addie and lu for being a part of this collab !! *inserts a million heart emojis and a big fat NUT emoticon*

re:warnings, the slut shaming is done by others and can also be considered as internalized oppression. it’s something the reader struggles with and eventually works to overcome. this first part isn’t as smutty as the second but regardless i hope u can bear with me lol. ty, as always, for giving my writing a chance. i hope u enjoy it or at least take something from it !

wall2wall can be read as a sequel to my fic money shot. same disclaimer applies: this story does claim to accurately portray the world of adult entertainment

SCENE 01 - YOU’VE GOT MALE. TAKE 01. ROLL A.

Today is just one of those days you wish you had slept straight through. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be dying from the sheer dullness of having nothing to do.

You huff out a sigh, bored out of your goddamn mind.

Head cradled in the crook of your left palm, you use your available hand to refresh your instagram feed. Much to your disappointment, nothing new shows up. The same video of a dog chasing its own tail plays on but you pay it no heed, the novelty having worn off after the first few times.

The next half hour passes by in a similar fashion, each result proving to be as unavailing as the last. You’d think that after a while you’d give up and find a new distraction to pass the time but whether out of habit or boredom-induced insanity, you persist with your fruitless attempts.

Today really fucking blows, you think glumly, the curve of your mouth thinning into a grimace. As the adorable corgie keeps the infernal cycle going, yapping and running around incessantly, you’re struck with a terrifying thought. Maybe this is how you will die - condemned to live your life stuck in the worst sort of monotony imaginable.

What you had expected to be a “quick and easy” shoot has turned into a tedious ordeal that you don’t see ending anytime soon. And whilst on-set complications and prolongations are frequent enough that they’re almost expected, today really takes the cake. Even during your rookie days, you can’t recall running into delays of this scale.

To top it off, the weather app announces a record-breaking heat - which in itself is bad enough. As luck would have it, it gets worse. The place rented out for today’s filming lacks proper air conditioning, equipped instead with electric fans that look like they’ve been around since the 1980s.

A quick glance into the vanity mirror confirms that you look as frazzled as you feel. Because of the humidity level that weighs down the air, your hair is in a right state. You fight a grimace off your face. The straggly hair coupled with the oily sheen on your face...it’s far from your best look, to say the least.

And to think thousands of people will get to see it up close in 1080p resolution... It’s a terrifying concept.

You’re already dreading the upcoming sex scenes that you’ve yet to film. It’s always a messy affair - fluids of all kind end up literally everywhere - but the sweltering heat undoubtedly makes it ten times worse. A shudder works its way down your spine.

Frankly speaking, the mere thought of having hot and wild sex in these less than ideal working conditions kills your libido. Under the glaring studio lights, surrounded by sweaty crewmen and pressed up an equally feverish body - it’s basically the porn equivalent of a fuckin’ barbecue party.

Yeah, no thanks. You’d rather be at home, with the air conditioner at full blast, nestled in the comfy cushions of your sofa as you marathon a series of your choice on netflix. Only the promised sum of money keeps you from bolting and calling it quits altogether.

“So when are you gonna drop the new boy toy?” a voice buzzes in your ear not unlike a pesky fly.

Tempting as it is to ignore it, you peel your eyes away from your reflection just in time to catch Seokjin shoot you the most unimpressed look in his repertoire, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in judgment.

In the background, an old ceiling fan whirs on but does nothing to cool you off. If anything, its constant rattling only exacerbates your growing headache.

“What are you talking about?" You flick a piece of imaginary lint off your dressing robe, your tone neutral.

Seokjin’s brown eyes see right through your feigned air of indifference. Months of working by your side have made him an expert at reading your body language, be it naked or clothed. A wolfish grin adorns his face as he swoops in for the kill.

“Oh come on. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Jongmin. He’s short - comes up to right about here.” Seokjin holds a hand up to his chest to illustrate his point, deliberately shaving off a few inches off your boyfriend’s height in order to antagonize you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, careful not to spit out the retort that’s perched on the tip of your tongue. It takes a great deal of effort to unclench the muscles in your jaw but you manage to school your features into an expression of polite confusion.

Seokjin frowns, dissatisfied with your lack of response. You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that he’s currently thinking of new ways to provoke you.

When the silence stretches on and he’s yet to riposte, you allow yourself to relax again, believing that he’s given up on being an asshole.

To your chagrin, you’re sorely mistaken. The last of your self-restraint is finally put to the test as his next words do nothing to quell your irritation.

“Jongmin.” He repeats slowly, like you need it spelled out for you. “He follows you around everywhere like a lap dog. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so, you know, pathetic.”

“His name is Jimin,” you correct for the nth time.

Instantly, you reprimand yourself for playing into his games and granting him the attention he so craves. Fulfilling his twisted desire is the last thing you hope to achieve. Staying silent would be the sensible thing to do but your brain completely bypasses the memo. The moment your mouth opens it’s impossible to quash the urge to justify yourself.

Maybe it’s your pride coming into play. Maybe it’s Seokjin’s uncanny ability to get under anyone’s skin at will. Whatever the case may be, you stammer out, on the defensive, “And he’s not my 'boy toy'. We - it’s not - we’re dating.” But the word feels like a weight on your tongue. You swallow.

The statement earns you a scoff of incredulity. “Dating? Him?”

You finally set your phone down and aim a glare his way, abandoning all pretense at being indifferent because—Jesus. Is the idea of you dating that unfathomable? He’s never been this worked up over any of your other relationships. Granted, none of them have ever lasted this long but is it really any of his business who you choose to see in your free time?

“I don’t get what your problem is. What’s so wrong with me dating?”

“Have you seen who you’re dating?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!”

While this isn’t the first time your agent lets a judgmental comment slip from between his pearly white teeth, it’s usually not laced with spite. Seokjin is never outright hostile, preferring sweet words of manipulation and thinly-veiled insults to shows of aggression. The attempt to get a rise out of you does not go by unnoticed. His anger, this time, feels personal.

You wrack your brain, quickly sifting through your recent memories to try and figure out why he’s chosen to be such an ass today. You’re certain that you’ve filled out all the necessary paperwork required to proceed with today’s filming, and yes, after thinking it over, you know that you went to the obligatory medical checkup last week. So there really is no reason for him to bitch at you unless—

The proverbial light bulb flickers on and it all suddenly makes sense.

You’re willing to bet a hefty sum of money that the high-paying gig you turned down two weekends ago is to blame for his abnormal crotchety behavior.

Yes, that would explain it.

Due to Seokjin's well-known propensity to hold a grudge for longer than average, the odds that he’s still hung up over the lost deal are pretty high. And as much as his disappointment and frustration are understandable from a business standpoint, you don’t appreciate being used as a verbal punching bag for him to expel all those pent-up feelings.

Seokjin hums, a knowing smirk pulling the sides of his mouth upwards. Fleetingly, and not for the first time, you find it a shame that his cockiness tarnishes his otherwise handsome face. “I give it another couple of days until you get bored. How long has this gone on for? A month? How are you not yanking out your hair from the sheer boredom of dating...that."

A muscle in your jaw ticks.

“He’s not Voldemort, you coward. Would it honestly kill you to say his name?” Seokjin’s expression begs to differ. You cut him off before he can add fuel to the fire. “And I won’t get bored. Jimin’s - he’s a perfectly nice guy. We’ve been seeing each other just fine—not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Yes, he’s nice,” Seokjin concedes easily, brushing off any attempts at putting an end to the conversation. He grins, wide and smug, like he knows you can’t refute what he’ll say next. “Perfectly nice and boring. The kind of guy you’d bring back home if your parents were straight-laced folks that wanted to marry you off to a choir boy. Seriously, how the fuck did a guy like him end up in the porn industry? He belongs in a church or, I dunno, maybe some neighborhood book club - not behind a camera filming you getting flogged by a daddy dom.”

You sniff. “Just because he tucks his shirts in doesn’t—”

“It’s not just the shirts, honey.” He leans over to pat your hand in a gesture of consolation. Used to his antics, his attempt is easily blocked by a swat of your hand.

You muster the dirtiest look you’re capable of, the kind of look that sends men to early graves, but he simply smiles in response, completely unfazed.

Any person with the minimum amount of tact would know to politely change the subject. It’s unfortunate that your agent does not belong to that pool of individuals, choosing instead to be selectively blind to overt social cues.

He continues on, unperturbed, like he has a point to prove. “Believe it or not, I know you. Sometimes, for whatever reason, perhaps a lapse in judgement but who the fuck knows, you like to venture out of your comfort zone and experiment. Like with the chickenshit gingerbread spice concoctions they come out with at Starbucks to celebrate turkey season and Christmas or the cream cheese makis they make for the white crowd who want to eat sushi but don’t like anything other than white rice and seaweed. And, trust me, while I’m all for diversity and broadening your personal experiences, don’t you think there’s a reason why you always go back to your preferred choice of an iced latte with two sugars?”

“Did you just compare Jimin to a gingerbread latte?”

Okay, so admittedly you’ve made some questionable food and beverage choices in the past, but the comparison is a fucking reach.

“You’re absolutely right." Seokjin gives a firm nod of his head, his expression serious. "Now that you mention it, he’s definitely a vanilla soy. Bland and boring. Targeted towards the middle-aged soccer moms that think veganism is a trend, not a lifestyle. Wants to be a people-pleaser but misses the mark.”

“I didn’t know it was Share Your Unwanted Opinion Time,” you grind out from behind a strained smile. “If I had, I would have said something about your receding hairline earlier.”

It’s a low blow but the way Seokjin’s plump lips curl in displeasure makes the dig worth it. One of his hands automatically shoot up to flatten the bangs that are usually slicked back with copious amounts of gel.

Offended, he spits, “It’s not receding! There’s a difference between premature balding and a bleach job gone wrong.”

"I'm not sure people care to differentiate. Looks like a receding hairline to me." You shrug while picking at your nails. “You’re nearing that age, too, so.”

“You just try looking this good at 30. Fucking try.”

He waits for a reply but your interest has already waned. You scroll through your phone, bored once more.

Seokjin makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat at the clear dismissal. You swear you hear him grumble under his breath - something along the lines of never going blonde again - but can’t find it in you to care, not when he’s finally ceased his nagging.

"Filming in twenty!" someone shouts from outside the door.

"They’re running behind schedule," Seokjin notes after glancing down at his gold wristwatch. "How can they take more than an hour to fix the lighting? Tch. Bunch of fuckin’ amateurs."

He aims a glare in your direction as if their incompetence is somehow your fault.

You have half a mind to glower back but miraculously withhold your sentiments. Admittedly, he isn’t wrong - the team you’re working with today keeps committing blunders even rookies wouldn’t dare perpetrate - but you’d rather get your driving license revoked forever than to acknowledge that Seokjin’s right and inflate his already unnaturally huge ego.

Something heavy plops into your lap. When you look down, the glossy surface of a magazine reflects the harsh lights suspended over the vanity table back at you.

“I didn’t want to resort to this but you leave me no choice,” he says in response to your look of confusion.

“What’s this?”

You hold up the magazine expecting the worst. It’s heavy in your hands, the pages thicker than the gossip rags you’d find in a dentist’s waiting room.

“’s the newest issue. Came out this morning. I’d actually like it back once you’re done because I haven’t finished reading it and God knows how hard it was to get my—hey, you can stop flicking aimlessly, I saved you the trouble and bookmarked the page,” Seokjin explains a bit impatiently.

When you shoot him a glance, his attention is trained on your face, not the magazine. He barely blinks. Like a snake honing in on its prey. And that kind of intense focus - that can’t be good. After all, you’ve known Seokjin long enough to suspect that whatever trick he has up his sleeve will give him the advantage he needs to deliver the killing blow.

Gingerly, you flip through the pages like you’re afraid the magazine might self-destruct in your hands. Which would be a waste, in your opinion, since Exquis is a damn good magazine - perhaps less intellectual than Playboy, but definitely classier than Hustler. Its reputation speaks for itself. Known for hiring the best photographers and carefully combing through their models, it’s selective, only picking the cream of the cr—

Everything around you stills.

Your eyes narrow at the spread because there, on the page Seokjin’s taken great care to bookmark, a model poses provocatively on a lounge chaise near a crystal clear pool. It’s similar to a shoot you’ve done in the past but you can tell right away that the quality of this is above and beyond anything you’ve ever done. The lighting is better, heck even the barely-there-swimsuit looks like it costs ten times more than whatever you had been told to throw on at the time.

The vexation you feel only worsens once it finally registers who the model is. Her youthful and pretty face carries a permanent haughtiness that not even makeup or acting can entirely mask.

The pages crease in your hold as you flick through the rest of the spread dedicated to the up and coming talents. With every new page that has her plastered on its glossy surface you feel your stomach sink.

2...3...4...

“Five pages,” you curse under your breath. For a magazine this renowned, it’s...a lot. Commendable, even. Your nose crinkles. “Well, fuck. me. sideways.”

Seokjin gloats, reveling in your outrage. “Hmph. I told you, didn’t I? Passing up the opportunity to work with Kim Namjoon would come and bite you in the ass.”

“Aha! So you have been a little bitch because I refused to shoot with Namjoon.” You whirl around in your chair and use the magazine to jab him in the chest. He easily steps aside, avoiding your attempt at wrinkling his trademark Armani button-down shirt.

“It was the chance of a lifetime and you knew it.” He turns his nose up and sniffs.

“That’s what you said about filming with Min Yoongi last month.” You roll your eyes. “I can’t take you seriously if you’re gonna say the same thing every time a new guy shows up.”

“Shooting with Agust D did help you gain some mainstream popularity. You’ve gotten love calls for catalog printings and your name is now automatically on the invite sheet for every C-list event in town. Namjoon would have given you another needed boost.” Seokjin folds his arms, lecturing mode switched on. You struggle with the instinctive urge to tune him out. “Sure, he’s got a niche audience, but he’s famous in his field and it would have helped expand your fa—“

“Not to kink shame or anything because we don’t do that, but Namjoon is a freak. And don’t deny it, I’ve seen his videos.”

“He’s specialized in particular—“

“You were the one telling me not to film all sorts of shit right off the bat,” you cut in, refusing to back down from your stance. There’s no way you’ll let him sweet-talk you out of this one, not after the multiple videos of Namjoon you’d binged one weekend. “Stick to one story.”

“Well, we’re not exactly ‘right off the bat’ anymore, are we? We’ve passed that stage. Right now is a crucial time in your career so you’ve got to make it count. Filming rehashed videos of the same pizza delivery guy scenario gets boring and fast. As pretty as you are, you’re not offering anything new to the table, are you?”

Fuck him. He’s right and you know it. Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman.

Still. “I refuse to work with a guy whose porn alias is Cock Monster.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well I said no,” you insist stubbornly.

“Well if you had said yes, maybe it would be your ass cheeks getting their own two page spread in Exquis instead,” jabs Seokjin, hitting you where it hurts.

Ugh. The reminder that Joy’s bested you yet again riles you up even more. That, coupled with the likelihood of your career ending imminently, makes you stop and think.

Your agent goes on to say, “Don’t you want the AVN for best newcomer? Where did that competitive edge go? At the rate this is going, Joy’s going to steal it from right under your nose.”

“Like fucking hell,” you hiss. The magazine bends under the strength of your grip. “That one’s mine.”

You absolutely refuse to lose out to her. Every fiber of your being rejects the idea of letting her one-up you again.

“Not if you don’t start branching out. The last time you did anything substantial or interesting was about a month ago. It’s already old news. People are going to forget you shot that sequence altogether if you don’t do anything that puts you back on the map.”

A pause. “…I really don’t want to film with someone who willingly named himself Cock Mons—”

“Fine.” Seokjin heaves a resigned sigh. “You don’t have to fuck the monster willy. Willy monster? Hm. Wouldn’t it make more sense to name himself Monster Cock and not Cock Monster? Wonder why he does th—”

You suppress a snort. “Please spare me while you can. It’s amazing, that talent for making everything sound a lot worse than it already it is.”

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“You trying to insult someone who’s willing to find you someone else to work with? I can always ask Monster Meatstick if he’s up for—”

“No! No, that’s - not necessary.” You force out a smile that wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking its genuine. “Why would I ever insult you? You’re the best agent one could ask for.”

“That’s what I thought.” He takes your compliment, forced or not. When he smiles, smugness rolls off of him in waves. “One day you’ll realize you’re taking my talent for granted. I’ll find you another onscreen partner even though you don’t know what you’re missing out.”

“Thank you.”

“But!” He interjects and this time you don’t bother swallowing down your groan, already dreading the stipulations he has in store for you. “You have to promise to hold up your end of the bargain and try your best.”

Indignation colors your face. Your mouth falls open, retort at the ready. “When do I ever slack off on the job?! I’ve never given a half-assed blowjob in my life - and trust me, the temptation was there. Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused when the guy can’t cum on command? I once had to get my jaw realigned.”

“I’m not saying you’re slacking off,” he backtracks, switching tactics. His expression is soon replaced by the business-like smile you’re used to seeing on the regular. Tone buttery and appeasing, he tries to convince you through flattery instead. “You work hard and do a good job… I wouldn’t have signed you on otherwise. The problem isn’t with the quality of your work but with - all the rest.”

“The rest?” you parrot back dumbly, trying and failing to comprehend.

Seokjin scowl returns, unable to keep his genuine emotions under wraps.

“D’you honestly think you’re at a point in your career where you can pick and choose your jobs like this? Ever since you started dating that - that thing - your workload has significantly decreased. And not because you lacked opportunities. You had them but you turned them all down.” Visibly getting worked up over the issue, his voice rises an octave, then two. “What should’ve been a good spring board, only brought you back to square one. I know I can’t force you to take jobs if you refuse to, but I can say that your potential is going to waste. I’ve never seen someone sabotage herself like this before and it’s driving me up the wall. While I get that you’re under the delusion that you’ve found true love or whatever Disney fantasy Jungmin has sold you, you can’t turn down projects over and over again without there being serious repercussions. You’re smart enough to know this. I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

Seokjin’s chest heaves as he takes in several big gulps of air, visibly out of breath after his monologue.

For him to explode like popcorn kennels in the microwave... You reckon he’d let his feelings pile up inside him for a while, silently stewing.

You’ve never seen your agent look so visibly distressed. He’s normally the picture-perfect image of composure so the sight that greets you is enough of a shock to render you speechless.

Deep down, Seokjin probably means well. There aren’t a lot of agents like him; you’re one of the lucky ones. Most girls are discarded by their agencies as quickly as used tissues once they get milked for all their worth.

Thankfully it’s never been that way with Seokjin. He claims that he’s in it for the long run. According to him the quick buck isn’t worth seeing the light die out in girl after girl. Perhaps that’s why he takes the task of ensuring your safety so seriously. How many times has he warned you to steer clear of this or that seedy director or ban you from attending drug-heavy parties? While his behavior can come off as overbearing on the worst days, at least he cares.

Sadly, it’s more than you can say for most.

In a way, he’s the only one in this business rooting for your success—if only because his paycheck depends on how well you perform. You like to pretend there’s more to it than that.

“I’m not - what’s Jimin got to do with any of this?” you splutter, still digesting the long tirade you’ve just been subjected to.

“Are you serious? That’s all you got from what I said?”

“Well, no, but I still fail to—”

“Do you think me a fool?” He crosses his arms tightly across his broad chest. “The only scenes you’re willing to shoot are when he’s on set. Are you a kid or something? Since when do you need supervision to shoot a sex scene?”

“N-no. It just worked out that way, okay?” In reply to his dubious expression, you force yourself to explain. “Okay, okay - I get it. Maybe I might’ve lessened my workload recently but it has nothing to do with Jimin, alright? My vagina needs rest from time to time. Just because it’s my job doesn’t mean I don’t need a break. I’m human too, not some blow-up doll.”

“You expect me to believe that he has nothing to do with it? You were perfectly fine before he entered the picture. And now that you’re all loved up you only pick—”

A knock, so timid you barely catch it, cuts off the rest of his sentence.

“Yeah? Come in, I’m decent!” you yell - not that you care whether someone sees you naked or not. The concept of modesty has long been lost on you. Some might call it shamelessness or vanity, but you take pride in how you look. And why wouldn’t you? Your body is your bread and butter. You spend hours in the gym every week so that your ass looks good no matter what camera angle.

“It’s me.”

The door opens a crack and the speaker tentatively sticks his mop of hair through the small opening. As soon as you recognize him, your heart leaps at the sight and you quickly tighten your robe together.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Seokjin mutters under his breath.

You resist the urge to throttle him and plaster on your brightest smile instead.

“I wanted to see how you were doing. Sorry I took so long... I would’ve come earlier but they needed my help.” Jimin scratches a spot behind his ear, sheepish. “Someone tripped over the cables and smashed a camera lens so we had to find a replacement. The director threw a fit and wanted to call it quits so we’ve been trying to calm him down this entire time. He did - eventually, anyway, after he called his dealer on set.”

A disapproving frown tugs at his mouth corners and mars his otherwise perfect appearance.

You take a moment to swoon internally. You’ll never get tired of admiring your boyfriend. Unlike the majority of the on-set personnel, he doesn’t reek of weed or booze or stale cigarette smoke. His ironed clothes and immaculate appearance always make it easy to spot him amidst the hungover crew.

“That’s fine! I kept myself busy.”

Jimin returns your smile, his eyes creasing into beautiful half-moon crescents. You don’t know what kind of love-struck expression covers your face but next to you Seokjin makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a gag and a cough.

“Oh! Here, I brought snacks. I didn’t know what you liked so I just grabbed everything I could get my hands on.” He holds up a paper plate stacked with treats no doubt stolen from the catering service. “I know I kind of went overboard but I wanted to make sure you kept your sugar level up.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you coo, reaching to take the plate from him. He’s piled on the sweets so high that it’s a miracle nothing has toppled over yet. You aren’t especially hungry but take a bite out of a chocolate candy to show how much you appreciate the effort. Its gooey consistency melts on your tongue, the taste so sweet it sticks to your teeth.

“How adorable,” chimes in Seokjin, his hand grabbing a licorice stick from the mountain of candy before you can swat him away. “Thanks Jongmin.”

“Jimin,” he corrects good-naturedly, his smile not budging an inch. You think, privately, that’s what you like the most about him. Not many have the ability to block out Seokjin’s bullshit so effectively.

“Mmh,” your manager says around a mouthful of candy. “Seokjin. Pleasure.”

You elbow him while gritting your teeth. “Can you...give us a moment?”

Seokjin swallows down the treat and opens his mouth in protest. He has the audacity to look betrayed. “You’re kicking me out of our room so the two of you can get it on? Really?”

Jimin’s cheeks flush and you quickly cut in before your agent can make matters worse.

"I just want to talk without you breathing down my neck. Weren’t you going off earlier about how I didn’t need adult supervision anymore? Well?”

“Fine. Fine! But you owe me. Again.” He grabs his portable phone charger from the vanity table before making his exit. “And don’t forget what we talked about!”

What a fucking drama queen. You have no idea why he always insists on making a scene when you know for a fact that he would’ve left of his own volition in five minutes anyway. For reasons he has no trouble disclosing, he can’t stand Jimin’s presence.

“I won’t,” you grumble just so that you can get him out of your hair faster.

The door slams shut with more force than strictly necessary. Silence hangs in the air for a brief moment before Jimin turns his warm gaze towards you.

“What was that about?”

“Uh, nothing. You know how he is...” You play with the ends of your braided hair. “He can’t go very long without throwing a tantrum.’

“He seems very protective of you,” remarks Jimin, a thoughtful expression painting his angelic face. “I think that’s why he’s not that fond of me.”

“Nonsense,” you rebut immediately as you take his hands in yours. “Who could ever not like you?”

Jimin allows his lips to quirk into a small, self-deprecating smile that you promptly erase with a kiss. His lips feel pillow-soft against yours, and you let yoruself indulge in the feeling before pulling back.

You sigh, remembering the scene you’ve yet to film. “If only my co-star was you.”

He laughs at that. “Seokjin would probably throw a fit, huh?”

Jimin treats you to dinner that night.

He chooses the restaurant. It’s a small, quaint place, tucked into a hidden corner just minutes away from the bustling main street of the shopping district. It’s not the kind of place people stumble across by accident but judging by the occupied tables, business is doing fine by reputation alone.

The owner comes out to greet Jimin by name. They exchange warm greetings, the woman asking him how his brother’s been doing and whether he’ll stop by anytime soon.

“Ah - I’m not sure... You know how he is... I’ll let him know you said hi.”

“Tell him I’ll give him an extra serving of ribs. That was his favorite, right?”

When her eyes trail over Jimin’s shoulder and spot you, she grins so wide you’d think she won the lottery or something. “Park Jimin! You’ve gone and found a girlfriend! And so pretty, too. Ah, really...time sure flies by. I remember when you first started coming here - and now!”

You smile back, greeting her with a polite handshake. The owner is quick to usher you into a small booth in the back. She hands you the menus while patting Jimin on his shoulder. “I’ll get you drinks. It’s on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that!” protests Jimin, shaking his head. “Really. It’s not—”

“Nonsense.” She waves a hand at him. “You’ll get two more if you keep that up, Park Jimin.”

Once she knows she’s earned Jimin’s compliance, she leaves with a satisfied smile. You can tell by their genuine interactions that she’s close to Jimin. Family, perhaps? Either way, this isn’t a place Jimin tracked down on yelp. He flips through the menu with ease, like he’s done it hundreds of times before.

“Sorry about that,” he says once she’s out of earshot. “I used to come here all the time with my family when we all still lived here. They moved and live in a different town now so we haven’t had a meal together here in years, but. I still come here. The food is good, of course, but - I dunno. I have good memories here so I thought I’d share it with you. It sounds stupid now.”

He laughs quietly, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“I love it.” You can’t help but smile, cheeks hurting from the force of it. Invisible liquor runs through your bloodstream, a ball of warmth unfurling in your belly. “Thank you.”

A pause ensues. It’s one of those moments in which you’re unsure if you’ve said too much or not enough. Being here with Jimin means a lot. You’re not the most verbose person but you hope that Jimin can feel your sincerity.

Maybe your stare comes off as too intense because Jimin breaks the eye contact and clears his throat.

He fiddles with his earring and says, “The food is really good!”

Pink dots his cheeks as he attempts to change the subject. “I don’t know how long the place has been around for but the food is exactly the same. Apparently it’s the sauce they use? Auntie still won’t share the recipes with me and I’ve known her since I was a kid.”

He chatters on, gaining confidence when he notices you’re not put off or bored by his numerous anecdotes. As time passes by, he’s visibly more relaxed. His laugh is more natural, less restrained, like he’s using all the muscles in his face and not just the ones near his mouth.

It’s a stark difference from the first date, you think. Back then he had come off as quite shy, preferring to let you lead the conversation, only offering up tidbits from time to time. Now the conversation flows easily. Nothing feels forced or awkward and - it’s nice. The normalcy of it. Like a hot cup of tea before bed or the scent of the fabric softener your mother uses. It’s something you find comfort in, that you can see yourself coming back to and not growing tired of.

Seokjin can say what he wants - that Jimin’s too uninteresting, that you’re too mismatched of a couple - whatever.

Jimin likes you for you.

When you’re out on dates or when the two of you talk on the phone late into the evening, he rarely brings up your job. Instead, he asks you questions about your favorite TV shows, your dipping sauce preferences, the first album you purchased. These small details might seem inconsequential to others but to you, they’re a welcome breath of fresh air.

For all the talks of Jimin being too average and too normal, men like him are in reality surprisingly hard to come by.

Because what you haven’t failed to notice since you began your career as a porn star is that people love the idea of you. People who avidly watch you from their laptop screen in the comfort of their own home think that you’re some type of sex goddess - that you’re basically up for anything. In their minds, you’re a fun girl who loves sex, all kinds of sex, any kind of sex, and who doesn’t have any qualities or attributes other than making people cum until their limbs go numb.

Your feelings? Not really important. Feelings would make you human and being human would ruin their favorite fantasy.

That’s what takes you a while to learn - you don’t get paid to have sex, you get paid to sell dreams.

It doesn’t bother you at first. In a way, you think, it’s like acting. The porn star people jerk off to daily is a character you play, a mask you can take off at your leisure once the camera director yells ‘cut!’.

Very quickly, you learn people don’t share the same sentiment. To them, the line that distinguishes you from your job persona isn’t blurry - it simply doesn’t exist.

In the beginning, you’d stayed optimistic. Once people get to know you past the image they’ve built up in their heads, surely they’ll realize you’re not a sex-craved addict who only has dick on the brain, right? But with every new date you accept to go on, the reality of your situation only leaves room for disappointment and barely reigned in revulsion.

Even in non-romantic situations, people let you down. Old classmates, neighbors... It pisses you off that they assume you have no self-worth just because you’re a sex worker. Stevie from 308 down the hall once tried throwing crumpled bills at you, expecting you to crawl over to him for a fifty. The memory is enough to set your blood boiling. You can’t wait until you earn big enough bucks to move out of your shitty apartment into a nice high-rise penthouse, away and above all the scum of the Earth.

“You okay?” asks Jimin, noticing the crease that burrows your brow. “The food alright?”

You blink several times, belatedly realizing you had zoned out. Guilt and embarrassment well up within you.

“M’yeah,” you swallow down the spoonful of stew stuffed in your mouth. “Sorry.”

Jimin chews his bottom lip. Finally, he settles with, “Tell me if I’m boring you.”

“No, no! You’re not.” His evident doubt does nothing to alleviate the sudden nausea swarming your lower belly. “I’m serious, Jimin. I’m - Sorry if I gave off that impression. I just - I have a lot on my mind but you’re lovely. I’d tell you if you were - you know. Promise.”

“Would you? Sometimes I think you’re too nice.” It’s not delivered as an insult, but it doesn’t exactly sound like praise, either.

You force out a snort. “Heh. Wish you’d tell Seokjin that.”

“He’s not too cross with me, is he?” Jimin’s expression looks awkward, like he’s forcing his facial muscles to stay relaxed and mien nonchalant.

“Wh- oh, you mean because of earlier? He isn’t. That’s not him being angry. It’s not even you. It’s me. We just have - a slight difference in opinions, I suppose. If you can even call it that.”

“He doesn’t want you to date me,” concludes Jimin.

The frustrations you’d repressed earlier in the day come back. Why does Seokjin’s opinion matter? You huff, putting your spoon down.

“He’s not my dad. And even if he was, I’m grown. I can make my own decisions.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it... It’s not like it’s any of his business in the first place.”

“Still...” Jimin says, unsure. “He’s your agent. I wouldn’t want the relation between you to sour because of me.”

“Honestly, I’m convinced it’s not even you he has a problem with. We talked about it today and I think he’s getting antsy because, um, you know, I haven’t accepted any big offers lately. Like, I’m staying too much in my comfort zone or something. He says that in the long run that can be detrimental to my career.”

It’s a bit strange, discussing your work with Jimin. You both work in the same industry, Jimin as a second camera assistant and you as an adult entertainer, but outside of filming sets, you rarely acknowledge what the other person does for a living.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He wants me to branch out and try new things.”

“What, you mean anal? Gangbangs?”

“Um, yeah. All that, probably...” You have to blink several times because of the shock of hearing Jimin say that so casually. “...Is that okay?”

“Huh?” Jimin in turn blinks at you, like your question doesn’t properly register. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’m fine with it. You said it’ll be good for your career?”

“Apparently.”

“Then, yeah.” He shrugs like he isn’t bothered by the news at all. “Of course that’s okay.”

A part of you wants to push the issue, ask him why he’d be fine with his girlfriend filming intense sex scenes with random men, but that inner voice is snuffed out before the poisonous thought has time to take root.

Isn’t this what you always wanted? A boyfriend who is accepting and understanding of your profession?

You wash down your worries with a gulp or two of soju, determined not to let your own insecurities ruin the rest of your night.

Less than 24 hours after you’ve agreed to work on a worthwhile project of Seokjin’s choosing, a slew of texts blow up your phone.

Unsurprisingly, it’s your agent. A quick scroll through your phone reveals that your agent has left you with no less than 15 messages, 1 voicemail, and 3 e-mails.

It’s...a lot. You’ve grown to expect that kind of fanfare with him. Like any man who deals with legally binding contracts on a daily basis, Seokjin ensures that you keep your word. He can be extremely persuasive when he sets his mind to it. You’ve seen men and women alike succumb to the force of his magnetism. Back when your filmography had solely consisted of amateur sex tapes shot in bad lighting with low-grade filming equipment, Seokjin's charms alone had been sufficient to win over lukewarm casting directors and book you jobs.

SEOKJIN : hey!!!!!!!!

SEOKJIN : ???

SEOKJIN : wow. you’re leaving me on read.........the audacity.

SEOKJIN : i raised you on my back and this is how you repay me?

SEOKJIN : do you not respect your elders in your household?

SEOKJIN : i swear if you’re blowing me off for jimmy instead of answering your calls .........

SEOKJIN : or blowing jimmy. either one.

SEOKJIN : ok it’s been 10 min. i’m chill but not that chill.

SEOKJIN : can you please stop sucking dick and read your emails. it’s important.

YOU : ever heard of multitasking? god gave us two hands for a reason

SEOKJIN : oh. nasty.

SEOKJIN : way to ruin my lunch.

SEOKJIN : well. suck down that nut sauce asap

SEOKJIN : cos what i sent you needs your undivided attention

YOU : i’m nasty?? me????

YOU : you don’t hear me saying nUT SAUCE you freak

SEOKJIN : nutté sauce

SEOKJIN : there. fixed it.

YOU : ...that’s not even a thing

SEOKJIN : well it should be!

SEOKJIN : adding accents makes it instantly classier, don’t you think? nutté sauce. has a nice ring to it.

SEOKJIN : honestly. sounds like some fancy four star french starter now.

YOU : ???? it absolutely doesn’t but ok

SEOKJIN : imagine. during a scene you just yell out

SEOKJIN : “i’d like a serving of your nutté sauce to go”

YOU : dicks would shrivel up on the spot

SEOKJIN : what? i think it’s brilliant!

SEOKJIN : my talent is wasted as an agent. should’ve been a scriptwriter instead.

YOU : yes i’m sure the oscars are weeping over the missed opportunity

He takes your sarcasm at face value, feeding you more ridiculous variants of faux french cum lingo—that which you very wisely choose not to reply to. Instead of humoring him, you open the .pdf file he’s sent your way, ignoring the near-constant buzzing of your phone as he’s no doubt pestering you for an immediate answer.

Had it not been necessary for business, you’d have blocked his number ages ago. In fact, after that nut sauce comment you’re seriously reconsidering, business obligations be damned.

To his credit, the film project he suggests you work on doesn't sound half-bad despite its questionable title. Why anyone would choose to name it THE SPERMINATOR is beyond you.

As you read through the proposition, you’re surprised to find it’s tamer than the initial imaginary scenario you’d played out in your head. Expecting to read through a long list of unnameable kinks and dicks, the scene description is rather domestic all things considered.

Your shoulders sag in relief. You enjoy sex as much as the next person, but even you have limits you’re not willing or eager to cross. You’re a human being, first and foremost, and, contrary to popular belief, not competing in the sex olympics.

From what you’ve read so far, nothing in Seokjin’s offer seems too strenuous or perverse. The scene in question is centered around a young, newly married couple trying to conceive for the first time and the sex acts are described as “romantic insemination” - whatever the fuck that means. The only complication you can think of is that you’ve never played the part of a married couple before. None of your previous films specifically target couples or women. Is romance something you can sell accordingly?

You’re quick to shake the concern off once you remember that no one cares if your acting is shit or not. All you probably have to do is yell out ‘Daddy’ a few times mid-thrust and call it a day.

Honestly, you’re a bit disappointed in Seokjin for choosing such a safe, no-risk project - especially since he constantly advocates the risk-return trade off as the way to live by. But you’re not about to start complaining. You’d rather shoot this type of innocuous scenario than ridiculous, hentai-like scenes involving freakish get-ups and toys of monster proportions not realistically made to fit in a vagina.

The deal is perfect. Almost too perfect.

Subconsciously, you must realize something is wrong. Maybe Seokjin’s many lessons have finally rubbed off on you because there’s a persistent voice in your ear warning you that the film proposition is a trap, one that you’ve unfortunately walked straight into.

Your wariness increases when he refuses to send you the script upon request. Alarm bells ring off but by then it’s too late.

“The thing is... Director Ryu wants to try a new type of project," Seokjin says over the phone once you call him up for answers. "He thinks he’s going to pioneer a new genre of porn and revolutionize the industry - his words, not mine.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“How do I explain this without you getting the wrong idea..."

“Is this meant to reassure me?!” Dread drips from your tone. You should’ve suspected something was off from the very moment Seokjin suggested to shoot vanilla porn as your next big project. What a joke.

“Calm down, it's not as bad as - whatever you're thinking.” Too bad that his attempts to calm you down have the opposite effect. “He’s been wanting to try out a new improvisation format for his porn movies.”

“Come again?”

A beat of uncomfortable quiet passes. Reluctantly, Seokjin explains, “Which means - there isn’t an actual script to go off of. That’s why I couldn’t send it to you - because there is none. He wants it to be as realistic and natural as possible so he’s looking for actors who can go with their gut and create their own scenario instead of ones who need to be directed.”

Your resounding silence speaks for itself.

Sure, sometimes they provide scripts to act as guidelines, roughly giving the actor an idea of how the scene will unfold, but no one is expected to follow it word for word. Most porn films rely on improvisation rather than scripts because of how notoriously bad porn stars are at acting and memorizing more than a few lines at a time, and the introduction scene never lasts very long anyway for it to make a noticeable difference. Besides, after filming a handful of movies, you’ve noticed the dialogue is more or less all the same.

What bothers you is that this director wants you to carry out a movie that relies heavily on improvised dialogue. Convincingly.

“C’mon,” Seokjin tries when you refuse to deign him with an answer. “It’ll be fun. You like acting, right?”

“Seokjin...” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to keep your composure in check. “How do I break this down for you? I think you’re forgetting the most crucial detail here - I can’t act! The closest I've ever gotten to acting is faking an orgasm and I’m pretty certain that doesn’t count."

“And you do that very well!" says Seokjin encouragingly. "You'll be fine. Don’t stress over it. Your scenes with Min Yoongi last time were perfectly acceptable!”

“That’s the thing.” Stress makes your voice raise a half-step. “He did, like, 90% of the acting! Back then, all I had to do was moan and act like a slut! Which hardly counts - I was being myself. Whatever this - thing - you’re attempting to rope me into - I’m not qualified for it.”

“Sweetheart, we’re not aiming for the fucking Oscars here.” When he laughs, it’s practiced enough to sound sincere. “At the end of the day, it’s still porn. Nobody’s expecting you to be the next Meryl. And besides,” he presses on, clearly refusing to change his mind. “This is exactly what you need right now. Something fresh, something new. If you pull this off, you’ll gain exposure.”

“If I pull it off. Big if."

“I know it sounds like a gamble. I get it, I do. But remember what I always say? High risk—”

“Yes, yes. High reward. I get it.” Your frown deepens. “There’s no way to know this will work, though.”

“A good co-star already guarantees you half of the success. And luckily for you, the guy they signed on seems like the real deal. He’s hot, you’re hot. People will pay money to see you two fuck regardless of how good or bad the acting is.”

“Well. That’s reassuring,” you say, voice as flat as a board. “Although I suppose watching porn on mute is always an option if it comes to that.”

“It was a joke!” What worries you is that it doesn’t sound like it is. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve seen some of your co-star’s tapes. He’s got a mouth on him, if you know what I mean. Just let him lead and it’ll go swimmingly.”

“It’s one thing to follow someone’s lead during sex but you want me to - to improvise for God knows how long! That’s just asking for a disaster to happen.”

“You said you were up for a challenge!” Seokjin throws your words back at you, his tone accusing.

“And you said this would be beneficial for my career! How is making a fool out of myself going to help me any? I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who can’t act to save her life.” You want to cry in frustration. If you had wanted to act you would’ve chosen that as your major in college. “I don’t - I can’t do this. I’m not - this isn’t what I signed up for! How do you expect me to convince viewers what they’re watching is real...”

“Just—” Exasperated, he takes a deep breath. Exhales. “Trust me. When have I ever been wrong about film projects.”

Is putting your career at risk really worth it? You’re not sure anymore.

On the bright side, it’ll finally get Seokjin off your back, you reason, trying to remain positive. That in itself is worth celebrating, right?

Fine. You’ll agree to it out of pettiness. Once Seokjin realizes what a terrible idea this entire ordeal is, you won’t hesitate to rub it back in his face. He’ll never hear the end of it.

"Who am I working with, anyway?”

"Ah, hm, well." Hesitation creeps up his voice for the first time, putting you instantly on edge. "...You won't know him. He's new to the scene - got started a month or two ago, I forget."

"Great. Not only am I being used as a lab rat for this director to experiment on but you're also pairing me with a fucking rookie. Jesus.”

"He’s not half bad! He’s not bad at all, actually. I wouldn't be insisting if I didn't trust him not to blow his load early."

"Aren’t I lucky,” you deadpan. “So I don't have to worry about him busting a nut before the director gives the signal?"

“All you’ll have to do is act like a married couple with baby fever,” he talks over you, ignoring your overflowing sarcasm. “And how hard can that be? You’ve been loved up with Jumin for a month now - that’s plenty enough practice if you ask me. I know you’ll be able to sell that romantic shit to the public without too much trouble.”

“It’s Jimin,” you correct from force of habit.

You’re promptly ignored — not that you expected anything less from him.

"Just give it a thought? And get back to me when you make up your mind. The sooner the better. The offer won't stay on the table forever." Even over the line, you can picture Seokjin raising his eyebrows at you, expectant. “If you’re serious about this job, you know what you have to do.”

You both know that you’ll accept the offer. Seokjin’s got you all figured out. As much as you don’t like being pushed around, the need to prove yourself is your main driving factor. The acquaintances who sneer at you, the family members who’ve shun you, the peers who expect you to burn out after the five month mark—you’d rather roll over and die than prove their misconceptions right.

It’s a matter of pride when you sniff and reply, “I’ll think about it.”

But the decision is already made before the call ends.

SCENE 02 - THE SPERMINATOR. TAKE 02. ROLL B.

Eight days later you find yourself squeezed into a brazenly short dress that zips in the front, more fit for a night out in a club than a dinner at home. It’s so ridiculously tight, you feel like a prey being swallowed down by a snake. There’s no room to breathe. You can’t wait for the scene to start, if only so you can dispose of the piece of fabric and never wear it again.

Unfortunately, your outfit gets worse because thrown over the clubbing attire is a frilly apron with small hearts embroidered along the hem. The mismatch is jarring. You’re not sure what look the stylist is going for but the end result is very...peculiar.

You comfort yourself with the knowledge that it could always be worse.

A quick glance at the digital clock on your phone confirms that you’re running on time. Good. After your last gig, the last thing you want is to spend hours waiting for the personnel to set up the cameras and sound equipment correctly.

Thankfully, today’s team works like a well-oiled machine. All that’s left are the last-minute preparations before the shoot begins.

Your false eyelashes are still drying when Seokjin elbows you sharply in the ribs. You crack open an eye to glare at him. “Ouch - ah, seriously? What is it now?”

“That’s him, that’s him!” Seokjin whispers under his breath, his gaze glued to a point somewhere beyond your shoulder. “Wooow. Aren’t you a lucky bitch? I’d gargle his nutté sauce for breakfast, if you get what I mean. He looks way better in person, damn.”

“Firstly - please never say that out loud again.” You fake a gag. “How do I buy myself a new set of ears?”

Seokjin ignores your dramatics. He shoots you a look. “You let that last guy draw a starfish on your face with his crème de la nut but did you hear me go sick?”

“That’s not the same and you know it!” Your jaw drops in indignation. “And can you stop trying to make nut cream a thing for the love of—”

“What’s this about nut cream?”

You whip your head around, mortification already etched onto your features. Your mouth opens, defense at the ready, only for your throat to clamp up.

“Oh.” You blink up in surprise because - well, Seokjin’s earlier assessment isn’t embellished. The guy is fit as fuck.

You’d seen photos in passing, had even googled his name out of curiosity, but the two-dimensional version of him pales to his real life physique. There’s a sharpness to his features that the camera fails to pick up on, a vibrancy that gets lost in the medium.

“Hey. I’m Hoseok.” His grip is firm, assertive, and your eyes naturally wander over his form. The loose muscle tee he’s thrown on puts his toned arms on display and makes it easier to admire the seemingly endless expanse of sun-kissed skin. He’s neither too thick nor too spindly, his muscles lean and firm instead of bulging. Strong but not intimidating. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” You swallow, mouth dry.

You expect him to leave it at that like most of your past co-stars usually do. Or worse - for him to abandon all pretenses and cross lines that aren’t meant to be crossed. As someone who has experienced it all - from standoffish to creepy and vile - nothing surprises you anymore.

But unlike your, admittedly low, expectations, his gaze is warm and friendly. He speaks smoothly, leaving no time for an awkward silence to instill itself.

“Yeah, I know who you are! I saw a video or two of yours before - you were featured on the agency’s main page last month, right? Fuckin’ genius, by the way. Best stuff I’ve seen in a long ass time.” An easy grin sits on his face, nothing about it fake or contrived. “I hope we get along today. I haven’t done much work myself - yet anyway - but I hope this can be a good experience for the both of us.”

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seokjin assures, patting your shoulder like a proud parent. “_____ here is the best talent I’ve signed on.”

“That I can believe,” Hoseok chimes, his smile never waning. “I’ve heard good stuff about you. I won’t lie - it reassured me a fuck ton when I heard I’d be working with you. The stuff we’re doing is, well, it’s a bit of a gamble at this point, but I’m sure it’ll go well because I’ll be working with you.”

For a brief, embarrassing moment, you’re robbed of words, unable to respond to his flattery. From experience, you know to be wary of guys like him. Whenever someone lays it on thick they always have an ulterior motive. But what could possibly be his?

“Seokjin’s saying that because I’m the only one who can stand his nagging,” you finally say, your shoulders stiff. Maybe it’s because you’ve just met, but it’s hard to figure him out and it doesn’t help that you’re naturally wary of strangers.

“Oh hush. You love me.” Sensing how guarded you’ve become, Seokjin mercifully offers you an out. “It was nice meeting you, Hoseok. Wish we could stay and chat but she has to get ready to film the pre-interview portion.”

“Oh yeah, that’s cool. Catch you later.”

You offer a quick smile he returns tenfold, its brightness momentarily dazzling you.

Slightly dazed from the intensity of it, you stagger behind Seokjin, sun spots dotting your vision. Your surroundings blur together as your mind tries to recover from the interaction.

“Sooooooooo?” Seokjin sing-songs once you’ve walked far enough to be out of earshot. His brows are raised knowingly, an infuriating type of smugness clinging to his features. “What did I tell you! He’s hot enough to single-highhandedly melt a glacier, huh?”

You scoff, not willing to admit anything. “He’s okay.”

“Oh c’mon. He’s baby daddy material for sure. Which works out well for you since he’s gonna pump one into you later.”

For once the grimace that crosses your face isn’t exaggerated. “Please. Stop. Talking. I’m this close to heaving out my lunch.”

You’re not even joking with that one. Attractive as Hoseok may be, any talk of baby-making is enough to dissipate any smidgens of lust.

The reminder of what the upcoming scene entails and the expectations people carry crash down on you like a pile of bricks. Although you’ve done your best to ignore the fact you’ll be acting today, the meeting with Hoseok yanks you harshly back to reality.

You’re going to act. As a married couple. Trying to conceive a baby.

Three things that have never, ever been on your bucket list are now about to be crossed out in the span of the same afternoon. To that you can only say - what the fuck is my life.

Like a mounting wave before the inevitable crash, panic crests within you. You feel it gradually build and build, flooding your lungs and every crevice of your body with overwhelming anxiety.

Seokjin sighs. “How are you going to make it through today? The whole point of the sex scene is to get you pregnant. Or fake pregnant. You know what I mean.”

“Um...” You try to laugh but it comes out shaky. Seokjin shoots you a concerned look. “I’ll be fine! Really! I can do it. It’s just acting like you said, right? It’s not like he’s actually gonna knock me up in real life. So. Totally fine. It’s fine. Perfect.”

Seokjin’s concern grows. His eyebrows pinch together and his expression turns serious. He asks with no trace of mockery, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay!” you reply. It’s too rushed of an answer to convince him. Your palms feel clammy and you wipe them off your damned apron. “Just. Nervous. Y’know.”

His steps slow to a halt and he places a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder. The weight, familiar and comforting, grounds you to reality. “Hey. What’s there to be nervous about? You got this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll trick yourself into believing it. “I’ve got this.”

“Look. Let me be honest for a second. I’ve been an agent for eight years now and I’ve seen a lot of talents come and go. No pun intended.” You smile back at him weakly. “You’ve got something...extra a lot of them lacked. I knew the moment I saw you on film you’d go far. The energy you bring onscreen is insane. I know today might seem new and strange - but so was your first ever professionally shot film, right? And you got through that fine. You’ll do great. I know it. And, not to toot my own horn, but I’m always right.”

That earns him a laugh. The nerves are still there but thanks to his pep talk it’s easier to breathe.

Despite being a big pain in the ass, Seokjin is exemplary at his job. Without him, you’re acutely aware you wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you have. Having him by your side is a reassurance in itself.

Someone calls your name, pulling you from your thoughts. When you turn around, you’re face to face with the round, bespectacled face of Director Ryu. You reckon he’s in his early forties but he acts younger than his age. It’s your first time working with him but so far he’s been nice enough, if a little full of himself. Not that you’re unaccustomed with working alongside conceited colleagues.

“Oh good, you’re back. You can get seated for the interview bit.” He points over to a chair placed in front of a pale yellow wall. From close up, you can see a paint job is in order, the old coat chipping off in several places. “Alright, this won’t last long - just need you to answer some questions on tape and we’ll be good to go.”

“Sure thing.” You nod and follow his directions, sitting still while the hair and make-up artist steps up to give your lips a final touch-up.

Strictly speaking, the before and after interviews aren’t a necessity. In your experience, directors mostly film the short question-and-answer sequence when you’re set to film hardcore sex scenes as a way to show viewers everything is consensual and that you thoroughly enjoyed the experience despite whatever might have transpired on screen.

You reckon the director wants to film you today to document the process behind his “groundbreaking film project”. Cue roll of eyes.

Somebody needs to tell him he isn’t inventing anything, you think while watching him fiddle with the camera until he’s completely satisfied with the angle. All he’s done so far is add unnecessary pressure on you. You hope Hoseok is faring better because the amount of performance anxiety you’re experiencing is an instant boner killer.

“You nervous?” the director asks once he’s done adjusting the camera lens.

While by some standards you’re still considered a newbie in the industry, you’ve done this enough times to fall into a routine. Wake-up, breakfast, get ready, arrive before call time, fill out all the paperwork and get ready to shoot your solo stills. It’s familiar enough that you’ve long stopped getting pre-performance jitters.

Today’s rush of anxiety is as surprising as it is unwelcome. They don’t want to hear that particular truth though, so you keep your reply sweet and bubbly.

“Nah,” you grin, wide and easy. “I’m super excited to film today!”

“Oh yeah? Is it perhaps because of your co-star?”

Your smile freezes for a second. Somewhere over the director’s shoulder you can see Seokjin nodding enthusiastically while giving you the double thumbs up. “Hoseok? He’s hot, sure.”

“Ooh. Already on a first name basis?”

“Hm?” you let out a noise of polite confusion, only belatedly realizing that his viewers know him better as his porn alias, J-Hope. But there’s no way in hell you’re going to yell that out loud while he’s fucking an orgasm out of you. Not only does it sound ridiculous but it’ll shatter whatever carefully crafted illusion you manage to build. “Um, yes. We’re getting to know each other. He’s very friendly.”

“I’m sure he is.” And there’s an implication there that doesn’t sit too well with you but thankfully Director Ryu chooses to move on and put that particular subject to rest.

“You ever shoot an insemination scene before?”

“Not yet.” You make sure to keep the smile on your face even if your cheeks are beginning to hurt. “I can’t wait to get to it. It’s a fantasy I’ve always had but never tried out for myself. I’m excited to film a first on camera!”

The director has yet to call you out for your bullshit so you slowly start to relax. Acting is a bit like lying, isn’t it? Maybe you can get through today after all.

You breeze through the rest of the questions, forcing out practiced laughs here and there all whilst keeping your voice syrupy sweet. It’s quick work, especially when you know what to expect. Before you know it, it’s already time to film the pièce de résistance. Everyone that’s allowed on set during filming filters into the kitchen, conversations between crew members dying down as they use their last recreational moments to check their phones.

The director’s filming style exempts you from shooting the customary pre-shoot sex stills which are essentially promotional pictures of you and and your partner in every sex position that you’ll be filming for real later on. You’re thankful for that, at least. Even with all of your on-camera experience, staying perfectly silent and still with someone’s dick inside you is no easy feat. It’s worse when you have to keep eye contact with your co-star and fake sexual gratification because the shot calls for it.

Hoseok waves at you from the other side of the room, the hair and makeup artist dusting some powder across the slope of his nose.

How can he look so relaxed?! You’re barely holding your lunch down. Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re able to now tat the butterflies are back in full force, making a mess of your stomach.

You feel queasy but try not to make it too obvious even as Seokjin comes around to check up on you. The last thing you want to do is make a scene, especially when your onscreen counterpart's demeanor is making you look amateurish in comparison.

Maybe Hoseok is a better actor than you’re able to give most porn stars credit for because try as you might, you fail to detect any nervous undercurrent in his tone. For someone who is supposedly starring in his first major project, he doesn’t seem all too bothered about how it might play out.

How does he do it?! In all honesty, if Seokjin hadn’t informed you of his rookie status, you would be none the wiser.

There’s an ease with which he carries himself, a fluidity in his movements that belies no anxiety or awkwardness. Even from this distance you can tell that there’s never a hint of hesitation in his movements or speech; he doesn’t seem self-conscious in the least. He talks and moves with the assurance of someone who has been in the industry for months, not weeks.

In that moment you envy him. You’re so nervous about the upcoming scene that it’s hard to feign an air of professional detachment.

His boisterous laugh is loud enough to carry across the room and interrupt your line of thought. When you look over at him again, you find him folded in half, hands clutching his sides, and wearing a grin so bright it eclipses the entirety of his face.

“He seems nice.”

You jump, startled by Jimin’s sudden appearance. You hadn’t even heard him draw near. With a sheepish expression, you turn to look up at him only to find him already staring off into the distance. There’s a strange look painting his face, and a small crease in his brow that usually isn’t present. When you follow his line of sight, you’re met with the image of Hoseok talking animatedly to the the small crowd that’s flocked around him.

“Yeah.” You aren’t sure what else to say. Although there’s no sarcasm attached to his words, you can’t help but find Jimin unnaturally tense.

Which makes sense, you concede guiltily. A mere stranger is minutes away from dicking down his girlfriend. You’re not sure how you’d feel if you were to stand in his shoes.

You breathe in deep, silently willing away the knot of distress in your belly. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. It’s just a job. A profession that Jimin has always been fully aware of, even before you’d begun dating.

Even as you remind yourself of the facts, it does little to dispel the lingering feelings of doubt and guilt.

“Hey.” Jimin frowns at you in concern. “You alright?”

“Yep!” you say then immediately sigh, knowing that lying to your boyfriend is pointless. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” Jimin’s worry grows, the crease in his brow deepening. “What about?”

“Just—” You gesture around with your hands. “All of this.”

“Oh.” He looks genuinely surprised. “But you don’t usually get nervous... Is it the impregnation thing you’ll have to do? I know you’ve said you’re not a big fan of that. Or... Is it something else?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. It’s a bit of everything yet at the same time nothing you can clearly pinpoint and put a finger on. In all logic, you know that you’re feeling disproportionately stressed out but you can’t stop yourself from feeling how you feel. “It’s not that I don’t want to film. I just - I’m worried I won’t do well.”

Jimin takes your hand between his, running a thumb in soothing circles across the surface of your skin. He repeats the motion several times until your heartbeat is completely synced to his touch.

“You’ll do great. You always do.” The lines of his mouth bend into a smile. “I’ll be on the sidelines cheering you on.”

“My very own cheerleader.” You allow yourself to relax and and smile back fondly.

As much as you worry about Jimin being upset with you filming sex scenes with other actors, he’s never been anything less than the supporting boyfriend you’ve always dreamed of. Seokjin calls Jimin’s constant presence on set maddening, but you’re thankful that your boyfriend sticks by your side while others might flee or shame you.

Suddenly, you’re overcome with emotion. Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe today you’re more hormonal than usual, but your eyes threaten to well up as you grip his palm tightly in your own. “Jimin, I—”

“Okay, lovebirds!” Seokjin claps his hands once, effectively ruining your moment. “Hand-holding time is over. We’re moving onto the more R-rated stuff.”

“Seokjin!” you hiss, upset over his horrible timing.

“It’s fine.” Jimin shakes his head. “He’s right, shoot’s about to start anytime soon. I need to get ready, too.”

“Right.”

Reluctantly, you let go of Jimin’s hand.

“Don’t pout.” He laughs and presses a quick, chaste kiss to your mouth. “I’ll wait for you after filming and we can go grab dinner. Italian sound fine?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” You bob your head eagerly. “I’m literally dying for carbs. Italian sounds more than perfect.”

“Good.”

You can’t resist sneaking in one last peck before Jimin retreats behind the cameras and you’re pulled to stand in front of a granite kitchen tabletop. Director Ryu is waiting for you, Hoseok already by his side.

From close-up, your co-star looks even more striking. The make-up artist’s work highlights his features without going overboard. The lines of his face are sharp, like every single one has been meticulously drawn. What usually would give someone a hostile and unapproachable impression is balanced out by the liveliness that lights up his eyes and his wide smile that looks almost too big for his face.

“It’ll start in the kitchen and then we’ll work out way to the bedroom.” Director Ryu points down the hallway. “I was thinking of keeping it all in the bedroom but nothing screams domesticity more than kitchen scenes, right?”

“Uh-huh.” You give a polite nod. Next to you, Hoseok coughs into his fist.

“Depending on how this goes we might have to take several takes - just keep that in mind.”

That’s nothing out of the ordinary. Sex scenes are never filmed in one take. There’s always one thing or another - a smoke break, a flaccid dick, a lighting fixture that needs to be changed. A 45 minute porn movie is the result of the editing team that painstakingly goes through, cuts and assembles hours of footage.

“Remember,” Director Ryu instructs, one hand cocked on his hips. “You’re still stuck in that honeymoon phase. All the two of you want to do is fuck like horny bunnies but your husband’s been away all day. Both of you have been waiting for this reunion for hours and hours. I want to feel that level of tension, got it?”

Hoseok nods like a dutiful student, his expression comically serious. You’d laugh if it wasn’t so inappropriate.

“Yep. Ok. Got it.”

You just want the director to stop talking so that you can get this over with quickly. The monologue is just delaying the inevitable.

Director Ryu spends extra minutes setting up the scene, emphasizing how in love and passionate the two of you should behave, describing how long you’ve been wanting to try for a baby, going into explicit detail about what the sex scenes should convey to the viewers. He just goes on and on and on with no end it sight.

At this point even Hoseok is growing restless. His feet refuse to stay still and his eyes dart around the room as if his attention is drawn elsewhere. It’s Hoseok’s constant fidgeting that draws Director Ryu out of his monologue. He finally senses that there’s a unanimous decision to start filming and retires behind the camera to settle himself in his appointed chair.

Hoseok shares a long look with you. “Is he always like that?”

“God, I hope not.” You lower your voice to whisper, “Seokjin - my agent - he says apparently Director Ryu wanted to make a career off of documentaries once he graduated from film school but quickly switched genres once he saw how little filming the mating habits of koalas was earning him.”

“Ah,” Hoseok nods conspiratorially before his features shift into something more serious. “Hey. Before we start, is there anything you’re not comfortable with? I know this scene is supposed to lean towards vanilla but you never know... I’d rather make sure. Just in case.”

You blink, taken aback. Hard limits aren’t really discussed outside of hardcore scenes. Sure, everyone is given a safeword before shoots begin but even screaming out “STOP!” or “Can we take a break from filming?” is enough to put the filmed scene on hold.

“Ah... No. I’m okay. But thanks for asking.” A moment passes and you add, “Is there - are there any words or kinks that bother you?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Not for this one. Just - if there’s anything you’d rather me not say or do, don’t hesitate.”

You nod in reply, not sure of what else to say. Unfortunately your past experiences with men have made you suspicious of any form of flattery or kindness.

Soon, though, you relax. What reason is there for Hoseok to deceive you? Maybe he still has that rookie mindset. You can relate to the eagerness and the desire to do well you’d had in your early days of filming.

“Alright. Good luck, Hoseok.”

His smile is so bright that it erases your previous doubts. Surely someone with ill-intentions wouldn’t be able to smile like that, right? You return a tentative smile of your own. Something akin to understanding seems to pass between you. Although you don’t know Hoseok and he doesn’t know you, you trust him enough for this scene.

The moment is broken when Director Ryu directs Hoseok to wait outside the camera’s line of vision and you’re left alone in front of the kitchen stove.

Any moment now, you think. A telltale silence falls over the staff members as they all anticipate the director’s signal for the scene to start.

The first few seconds are always tricky. You’re no actress. There’s no switch inside of you that flips on and off as soon as the director commands “ACTION!” and “CUT!”. The world around you doesn’t fade out, your ‘porn star persona’ doesn’t claw its way out from within you and lunge for the nearest available dick. Sometimes, if you’re not attracted to your onscreen partner, you find your mind drifting off, making an inventory of your fridge and wondering what you’ll be able to cook up for dinner with two eggs and leftover rice.

When Director Ryu shouts “ACTION!” and slams down the plate, you freeze up. Usually you have an idea of what to say or do, but the words and actions won’t come to you this time.

Someone behind the cameras lets out a light cough. Oh right, you blink down at the simmering pot of water in front of you. The cameras are recording you making an utter fool out of yourself.

The spike of humiliation forces you into action. You’re more professional than this, damn it. You give the water a tentative stir, movements wooden and stiff. It’s hard to concentrate. All you can do is watch as the water simmers to a boil, the sound of bubbling water like a roaring current in your ears.

A door creaks open, signalling your onscreen husband’s return home.

To your horror, you find that you’re unable to move, as if your limbs had forgotten their primary function.

Before the scene had started, you had envisioned yourself throwing yourself into the arms of your loving husband and welcoming him home with a shower of kisses and words of affection. You had internally rehearsed it, had even thought of what you could say to him between pecks, but the reality is far removed from what you had practiced.

“Darling?” Hoseok’s voice is soft but loud enough for you to hear him over the angry sounds of boiling water. The vowels he uses are rounded, different from the bright pep in his tone from earlier.

You want to respond but your tongue feels like lead, too heavy in your mouth to articulate and form the proper reply. What are you supposed to call him, anyway? Honey? Hoseok? A nickname derived from his name? What do newlywed spouses call each other? Why couldn’t you give this more thought before the cameras began rolling?

Panic balloons inside you, threatening to burst. For a terrifying and mortifying second, you think that you’ve gone and ruined everything. The muscles in your shoulders bunch up and you half-expect the director to shout ‘CUT!’, give you a public scolding for missing your cue and berate you for your overall ineptitude.

Hoseok’s arms wrap around your middle before you have time to agonize any further. Just as you suspected, his arms are strong, the lean muscles flexing as he readjusts his hold around your waist. What you don’t expect, however, is the unadulterated warmth he radiates. His body burns hot; even through the layers of clothing separating the two of you, his warmth seeps through. But it’s strangely comfortable, not unlike basking in the afternoon sun during the last days of summer. You let yourself melt into his embrace.

“You’re not even going to say hi?”

With your back turned to him, you can’t be sure, but you imagine the pout playing at his lips. He tucks his chin in the crook of your shoulder. If he feels any awkwardness, he doesn’t let it show.

Miraculously, your mouth seems to be in working order again. It takes you a few seconds too long to find the appropriate answer, but it finally comes before the director can cut in to make any remarks.

“If I turn around right now, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you,” you explain. “And - I don’t want to ruin our dinner.”

Just to keep up the pretense, you add a handful of spaghetti into the pot of water.

Hoseok lets out a hum from behind you. He’s standing close enough for you to feel the vibrations low in his throat.

“I hate it,” he says after a stretch of silence.

You pout. “What? My cooking? What’s wrong with it?”

“No, silly. I hate -” he sighs, buries his face in your neck before looking back up so the camera can capture his expression. “I hate not being with you. I missed this.”

He hugs you from behind before kissing your neck. It starts off innocuous - his lips pressing short, chaste kisses down the column of your throat. Quickly, however, his mouth lingers on your skin.

“Ah - don’t. I’m cooking!” you shriek when his teeth scrape over a sensitive spot under your jaw. Your protests are half-hearted and go by unacknowledged. The pot of pasta could overflow right now and no one would care, least of all you.

Hoseok noses your neck while he tightening his grip around your waist, the movement bringing his hips flush against your lower back. You give the pot in front of you a very unenthusiastic stir, attention focused instead on the way his lips tenderly skim the surface of your skin, testing and teasing. The sensation feels nice - and keeps your mind off of the several cameras directed your way.

“But I went all day missing my princess,” he sighs, open mouthed against your neck. “Spent all day thinking about you.”

“Y-you did?”

“Mhm.” He gives your exposed shoulder a peck. Then another. “Thought about your cute little laugh.”

His line catches you off guard. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Porn is often crude and to the point. You’re used to men complimenting your body parts or praising your skills in bed. You’d never minded, either. But Hoseok’s choice of words make you eager in a different way.

“What else?”

“Well, your cooking, for sure. Without you I’d be eating out of ramyeon packets for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

You let out a snort.

“That’s true. Your cooking is so horrible it’s offensive.”

“Hey now. Don’t be mean.” He pokes your cheek before pinching your chin to turn your head towards him. “I can cook a decent omelet.”

Hoseok’s a good few inches taller than you so you have to strain your neck to be able to look him in the eyes. The slight discomfort barely registers. You’re too transfixed by the way he stares at you. It’s hard to place the expression because you’ve never seen it on a fellow actor before. Normally, the men you work with stare you down with hungry and lustful intent, but there’s none of that in Hoseok’s gaze.

The expression on his face cannot be described as innocent, either. He licks his lips, drawing your attention to the pretty lines of his mouth delicately curved into a smile.

“I missed the way you feel in my arms.” His voice sounds deeper, this time. “I missed holding you close to me. Kissing you. Reminding you how much I love you. I missed the look in your eyes when - “

“When?”

He smirks. “You sure you want to hear it? What if you can’t keep your hands off of me after? I don’t want to be held responsible for soggy pasta.”

“Hoseok,” you whine, one of your hands reaching down to slap at the hold around your stomach.

He tightens his hold around you and your breath hitches, suddenly all too aware of how firm his body feels behind you. The smirk on his face widens as he leans forward to confess his next words.

“I was thinking about how I miss the look on your face whenever I make your pussy sloppy with my cum.”

“Hoseok!”

One moment he’s crooning sweet words of affection, the next he’s spitting out filth. The quick back-and-forth gives you whiplash but you can’t say you dislike it. Unlike the tired and overused clichéd porn scenarios you’ve filmed in the past, Hoseok’s unpredictable behavior has the advantage of keeping you on your toes.

“You missed it too, hm?” He kisses your neck, lips soft and warm. “Kept thinking about how pretty you sound. So, so pretty. Especially when I give you what you want.”

“How would you know what I want?” You turn your head forwards so you can pretend to check up on the cooking pasta. “You were away all day.”

Hoseok’s eyes flash dangerously.

“How would I know?” he parrots back, his tone sweet and mocking. Something about it sends tingles down your spine and has you standing up straighter. “I always know what my pretty wife wants. I know because your body can’t lie to me.”

His hands wander, one of them inching up the material of your frilly apron to reach between your breasts. The movement is slow enough for a camera to zoom in and follow its trail. Hoseok rests his hand on your left breast and gives it a squeeze.

“See?” He repeats the action. “Your heart’s racing like crazy.”

You swallow audibly, finding it hard to come up with a witty riposte.

He continues with a chuckle, “You can’t deny it, can you? Your body’s too honest for your own good. It’s okay. You don’t have to say you missed me. I know.”

His self-assured way of talking makes it easier for you to react. This - the cockiness, the playfulness - you’re familiar with.

You roll your eyes and continue to give the pot in front of you a few additional stirs only for your breath to hitch when he starts to grind his hips against your lower back in time with your stirs.

Fuck is your only coherent thought. He rolls his hips so well it’s impossible not to imagine them doing something else. Your bottom lip grows numb from how hard you bite it.

“Of course I missed you.” You keep your tone as light as possible, determined not to show that his words and actions affect you.

Hoseok’s eyes narrow. He removes his hands from around you but keeps his front pressed against your back. He smiles again, dimples poking through.

“You don’t sound convinced... That’s fine.” It sounds like the beginning of a challenge and you soon learn why.

His nimble fingers play with the knot of your apron and you tense, expecting him to make quick work of your clothes and dive straight into dessert, so to speak. Once again, he surprises you by leaving the apron alone, hands falling to his sides.

His knees hit the floor, the noise startling you. Before you have the chance to truly react, he’s quick to pull your hips backwards until your back is arched. The sudden change in position forces you to adjust your stance so as to keep your balance.

“Hoseok?” you start to question but he cuts you off with a tut and light smack to your ass.

“You just keep your eye on dinner like you were doing before.” His fingers play with the hem of your short dress, stretching the fabric until it bunches up around your hips and leaves your lacy thong on display. “You can do that, right?”

Flustered by the position he’s maneuvered you into, with your hips thrust back obscenely, legs splayed wide and pussy on show, you grip the wooden spoon in your hand with more force than necessary. “It’s just pasta. I can manage.”

Maybe you sound less indifferent than intended because Hoseok seems more amused than offended by your feinted nonchalance. He barks out a laugh, his hands spreading the meat of your cheeks aside to get a better view of your lace-covered bits.

Privately, you wish you could witness his reaction. If there’s anything that turns you on, it’s knowing how much someone else wants you. If feels good to know that you’re wanted and desired. Even if fucking is part of your job description, the act needs to be mutually enjoyable for you to be completely satisfied.

“Sure.” The lilt in his voice is so sweet that it borders on condescending. “While you do that, I think I’ll have my appetizer.”

It’s corny, overused and a little degrading - exactly the type of one-liner you’d ordinarily find in porn - but he gives you no time to call him out for it. As soon as he’s done talking, he wags his tongue out and drags it across the red lace, and the repeated up and down motions quickly dampen your panties.

You notice with great frustration that he takes care to avoid your clit, focusing instead on licking broad stripes over slit and, to your surprise, around your rim. He doesn’t stop until your underwear drips with the accumulation of your essence and his saliva. The soaked lace rubs against you, the rough texture adding pressure to your most sensitive zones, until you can’t tell if the extra sensation is a blessing or a curse. Your hips jerk forward every so often, unsure if you’d rather lean into or escape his torturous games. Because as amazing as Hoseok’s tongue feels, you know your body well enough to be able to tell that this particular tempo won’t bring you to your peak.

An appetizer, he had called it. That’s exactly what the teasing ministrations feel like - a small sampling before the main course. It’s satisfying and maddening in its own way. Good, but not enough to satisfy your ravenous appetite.

He unearths himself from your dripping core, chin shiny with your juices.

“Keep focus,” he instructs as he slots two fingers inside of you. You’re wet enough that they slide in without too much difficulty, the stretch making your stomach clench. “I thought you said you knew how to cook pasta.”

Against your will, you force yourself to focus on the bubbling water in front of you. As much as you want to push your hips back and ride his fingers until you’re pushed over the edge, you can’t take the humiliation of messing up pasta - even if it is for the sake of a porn scenario.

It’s fucking pasta! You have to be seriously inept to mess up such a simple dish...

But what should have been an effortless task becomes more challenging than expected. Hoseok refuses to go easy on you. If anything, your stubborn silence is all the motivation he needs to thrust his fingers inside of you harder, curving them at an angle that makes your knees wobble. You struggle to keep any incriminating noises at bay but despite your best efforts, several muffled moans slip out one after the other.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the logical side of you points out how dangerous all of this is. What if, during your impending orgasm, your body seizes up and knocks the boiling water everywhere during the process? You quickly switch off the gas stove at the thought. Better be safe than sorry.

Just then, Hoseok adds his tongue to the mix, his fingers relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. You bite back a curse as the wooden spoon slips from your hold and clatters to the floor.

“Ah fu - Oh God,” you stutter, hands holding on to the edge of the counter for dear life.

You’ve been eaten out God knows how many times in your life, but not many have instinctively known what really gets you going. Hoseok laps at your core, tongue collecting the moisture that seeps through the fabric of your ruined panties, while his fingers scissor you open for his cock.

Your stomach clenches as you imagine how well he’d fill you up. Who the hell would ever want pasta for dinner when Hoseok could feed you his cock instead? Definitely not you, that’s for sure.

It’s easy to picture it. All he’d need to do is stand up, unzip his pants and spear you open with a practiced roll of his hips. Maybe he’d make you toss a salad while he fucks you from behind, slapping your ass whenever you forget to keep stirring the ingredients together. Or perhaps he’d let you ride his dick on the kitchen floor, too impatient to make it to a more comfortable surface.

Your imagination knows no bounds. Once you start, you can’t stop thinking of more lascivious scenarios, each one more daring and debauched than the last. The heat between your legs becomes unbearable and still, you ache for more.

Hoseok pulls away from the apex of your thighs and snorts, the sound pulling you out of your depraved thoughts. The pace of his thrusting slows down without stopping completely, his fingers still pressed deep within you. Your arms tremble as they try to keep you upright, knuckles white from the strength of your grip around the counter’s edge. You exhale shakily.

A whine works its way into your voice. “Why - why’d you stop?”

Ignoring your protests, he pops his fingers out of you and indulges in one last lick of your swollen pussy, before gathering to his feet. He rolls down your dress back over your bum and peers over your shoulder, acting as nothing had ever happened.

“Thought you said you’d take care of dinner, hm?” Hoseok has the gall to hum in disappointment.

Your mouth opens in outrage. “You!”

Hoseok pouts. “I thought we said you wouldn’t blame me for any soggy pasta.”

“You’re impossible,” you say without any real heat to your words.

“But you love me that way.”

He smiles as he leans in to kiss you, lips sticky and warm. You follow the pace he sets as best you can, unaccustomed to the way he takes his time - like you’re a delicacy that demands to be savored and not gulped down. On-screen kisses are usually rushed, messy, with too much tongue. They’re a scripted affair, more for show than out of real affection. When men tuck back your hair behind your ear or palm your cheek, it’s only to better angle your face for the camera.

There is something intimate about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you. Inwardly, you can't help but admire his acting skills. There’s something tender about the way he handles you that’s distinctly different from any of your previous onscreen partners. Sure, you’ve shot vanilla sex scenes before, but never of this variety. None of the male actors’ performances have made you wish, even fleetingly, foolishly, that the scene was real.

Hoseok pulls up for air before your mind can wander off completely, his panting mouth a hairsbreadth away. Lips touching but not quite.

Blearily, you blink your eyes open. You’re close enough that your noses brush against one another, your breaths mingling together. Hoseok’s eyes remain closed throughout, like he doesn’t want the moment to end. He looks so content that you can’t bring yourself to do anything else but melt further into his embrace, gaze drinking in the minute details of his face - like the tiny moles dotting his cheekbone and upper lip and the pretty curve of his eyes.

“And cut!”

You both jump away from each other, startled. For a second there, the storyline you’d been instructed to follow had slipped from your mind. You’re unsure if the lapse in judgement is good or bad but you don’t let the question linger in your thoughts. You’ll have plenty of time to dissect your performance at a later time.

“Good, good. That wasn’t what I was expecting but I don’t think anyone has any objections?” Director Ryu claps his hands. “Fifteen minute break sound good everyone? Then we’ll relocate to the bedroom to shoot the next part.”

There’s a general hum of agreement from the crew members. Chairs and various other equipment scrape the floor as the personnel prepare to migrate to the other room for filming. Jimin’s gaze meets yours briefly but all he can do is smile weakly in your direction before he’s ordered to help push some of the equipment down the hall.

Someone comes up to you with a bottle of water while another steps closer to blot the beads of sweat near your hairline and reapply a layer of lipstick. The make-up artist knits her brows in concentration until she’s satisfied with the touch-ups. She then moves on to Hoseok, make-up palette and brush at the ready, and grumbles loudly about the sticky residue covering his face. You hear Hoseok bellow a laugh, the sound so infectious that even the make-up artist joins in.

You sip your water through a straw, careful not to smudge your freshly applied lipstick, and check your phone for any missed messages.

“Was all of that okay?”

“Hm?” You look up and are surprised to see Hoseok stare at you expectantly. “I, uh, know some girls aren’t into ass play. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before jumping the gun but I figured - since you said there wasn’t anything major you were adverse to filming...”

His voice trails off.

“I liked it.” The admission is an easy one. “It did take me by surprise, but - I don’t have any complaints.”

“Ah, really?” Hoseok’s mouth corners upturn in relief. “That’s good to know. I was thinking - for the next scene - what if - I mean, are you okay with calling me Daddy?”

You tilt your head as you mull over the proposition.

“Daddy?”

“It’s not - you don’t have to. But listening to Director Ryu go on earlier made me think of something we could do. I think it fits well with the general idea. What do you think?”

“I’m fine with it.” Using the title doesn’t make you squeamish so you shrug in compliance. It’s not the first you’ve had to incorporate a daddy kink into the scene and it likely won’t be the last. You don’t see why you wouldn’t or shouldn’t do it with Hoseok. “I’ll follow your lead like I’ve been doing.”

It’s only as you’re following him towards the bedroom that you recall that you’ve yet to get to the crux of the scene - the damned impregnation kink. Even though you’re considerably less nervous than you’d been an hour or two ago, the thought of begging someone you barely know for something so intimate makes your stomach flip-flop. You don’t even have unprotected sex with Jimin and he’s your boyfriend.

Speaking of Jimin, you try to sneak in a peck or two before filming but Director Ryu intercepts you before you can make a beeline to where Jimin’s stationed behind a camera.

“How are you feeling?” The overhead light reflects off his round glasses and makes it impossible to hold eye contact unless you want to become semi-permanently blind.

“Good---”

“Wonderful. Well, we’ve positioned cameras here, here, and over there. There’ll be another camera man who’ll film with a handheld camera for closeups. Just keep that in mind. I know we’re giving you free-range to do what you feel is best and most natural but I’d hate to ask you to re-shoot because the camera couldn’t capture the both of you properly.”

You nod and he continues, “Also - please remember that you’re acting as a horny young married couple. I remember at that age I was up for anything, you get what I’m saying? People think just because you put a ring on your finger the sex automatically becomes stale. Fuck that. Show people married couples are freaks in the sheet.”

“Uh... Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He claps a hand over your shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

Freaks in the sheet? What did he expect you to do? Try out all the sex positions in the Kama Sutra?

“What did he want now?” Hoseok leans over to whisper once you’re seated comfortably on the bed. You’re hoping the mics don’t pick up the conversation but would rather not take the risk of being overheard bad-mouthing the director.

Shrugging, you say, “Just that this scene should be spicier.”

Hoseok raises his brow, lips quirking into a smirk. “That so?”

The same cockiness you’d caught a glimpse of during your escapade in the kitchen is back and the memory you associate it with makes the back of your neck prickle with heat. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.

Thankfully Director Ryu interrupts before Hoseok has the chance to fluster you further. You follow each of the director’s voiced directives until you’re comfortably seated on Hoseok’s lap, dress hitched around your waist because of how far your knees are spread on either side of Hoseok’s thighs. There’s a quick, last minute adjustment as Director Ryu ensures that the camera in the left corner picks up on everything it’s supposed to.

Satisfied, he lets you take the reins from there, then gives the cameras the signal to begin rolling.

You don’t waste a moment, taking his earlier commentary to heart. It’s your turn to pepper kisses all over Hoseok’s golden skin, leaving faint traces of rouge behind like an artist signing their own painting. You stop a few times to admire your work. Lip prints and lavender bite marks color his skin and the sight awakens a possessive streak you didn’t know you had.

Your enthusiasm to mark him up gets a little out of hand.

"Mhm." Hoseok grunts when you lick over a sensitive spot under his jaw. "Slow down, princess. There's no rush. We have all night."

He cups his chin between his hands so you have no choice but to relent and direct your gaze up at him. You’re pleased to see that he’s not completely indifferent to your touch; despite his instructions to take it slow, the smoldering look in his eyes tell a different story.

He runs the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, the pink flesh no doubt swollen. You take the digit in your mouth, unprompted, and run your tongue against its underside, wishing that his cock could fill your mouth instead.

Hoseok makes a noise low in his throat, not quite a growl but close.

"And I intend to take my time with you." The look he levels you with promises a night full of mind-numbing pleasure. Ribbons of heat curl around the base of your spine. "Want to make you feel good."

"You do," you agree, words muffled around the thumb you refuse to let go of.

You take a hold of his wrist and free your mouth, only to quickly replace it with his forefinger and middle finger. The stretch of two digits makes you moan lewdly.

Hoseok’s eyes darken. He lets you play for a few more seconds before he takes back control, his fingers pushing deeper into your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. You swallow down a gag, but his fingers don’t let you rest for long. He drags them over the flat of your tongue, watching as spit dribbles down past the sides of your mouth, and repeats the motion, pumping into your mouth steadily like he would a cock.

As nice as it feels to be filled with his fingers, whether in your cunt or mouth, you’re ready for more. Subconsciously, your hips grind down in his lap, shifting this way and that until you’re perfectly seated over his hardened length.

Drool is pushed out of your mouth as Hoseok squeezes a third fingers in with the other two. You suck harder, hoping that all your efforts will spur Hoseok into finally fucking you. The knowledge that he has to, at one point or another, keeps you from whining and begging pathetically for his cock. You can exercise patience if you put your mind to it; you’re sure of it.

Your on-screen husband decides to test that resolve.

His other hand starts to wander south, his fingers toying with the short hem of your dress that’s been rucked up even higher with all your rocking and grinding. The movement of your hips slow, your brain unable to keep up with the stimuli coming in all directions.

A crack resounds in the room, the sharp sound startling you more than the sting that accompanies it. Hoseok’s palm rubs over the heated area, only inflaming it further.

“And who told you you could stop?”

The second slap is notably harsher than the first, and your hips automatically lurch forward hoping perhaps to lessen the impact of the sting.

You know he doesn’t expect a verbal answer; his second hand keeps your mouth plugged up, making any attempt at talking unintelligible. It doesn’t stop you from trying, only because you know the muffled protest are greatly appreciated amongst viewers. And if the way Hoseok’s digs his fingers into your smarting ass cheek is any indicator, you’re confident that he also enjoys your squirming and messy display.

“Keep moving, princess. I need both your holes nice and wet.”

The way his voice dips an octave makes your stomach twist in arousal. You long to tell him that you’re sufficiently wet enough for him to slide his cock inside right away but all you manage are pitiful garbled words.

He raises an eyebrow at your delayed response and your hips move before he can smack the globes of your ass for a third time. You have an inkling he’ll only hit harder with the intention of leaving marks of his own all over your skin.

It’s a careful balancing act, but you figure it out as you go. Bounce too fast and the fingers in your mouth will make you gag. Move too slowly for his liking and he won’t hesitate to add to the collection of handprints on your ass.

You lose track of how long he makes you play this game. Your mind focuses on sucking while keeping your jaw slack enough to accomadate the width of three digits. Drool pools down your chin, and you’re certain whatever the make-up artist had done to your lips is now ruined. Worse off are your panties. At the stage they’re at now, you’ll have no choice but to throw them out. Hoseok’s pants might need be as unsalveagable as your thong, you think inwardly, judging by the large, dark wet spot you’re currently sitting on.

“Mmh, good girl.”

He gently slides his fingers out, strings of saliva attached. He hums in satisfaction at the lewd sight and rubs his fingers across your swollen lips and shiny chin, spreading the fluids and what’s left of your lipstick over your mouth. You swallow, mouth sore from being used roughly for so long.

“This hole is sufficiently wet, I think,” he appraises, eyelashes fluttering before he casts a long look down your body until it reaches where you’re seated on his clothed erection. “Let’s check this one too.”

The way he smirks at you but makes no move to check himself lets you know that he expects you to do the work.

You let your hands trail down your body slowly, cupping your breasts as you do, enjoying his hooded gaze and the way his cock twitches beneath you a bit too much. When you reach the hem of your dress, you lift your hips up to pull the fabric up to your navel giving an unobstructed view of your lace-covered pussy.

Hoseok stare intensifies but you don’t feel any embarrassment from the scrutiny. “Well you certainly look ripe.”

His fingers toy with the delicate string of lace around your hips. He lets the material snap against your skin a few times before he grows bored or impatient with his own game and gives the lace a harsh yank. It tears easily and the leftover scraps fall into his lap.

“... But just to be sure -” His hands grip your waist and manhandle you onto your hands and knees. Your head spins from how suddenly he’s moved you around to his liking that your arms give out and you fall face first into the clean smelling bed sheets. “Gotta give my favorite hole of yours a better look.”

His hands hoist your hips at a higher angle so that your soaked center is visible for the cameras to pan onto. Hoseok slides in two fingers easily, then a third. Loud, obscene noises echo in the otherwise quiet room, noises that are quickly joined by your unabashed moans of pleasure.

Your core is on fire. Hoseok’s fingers are just as good as you remember them to be. No, better. The three fingers pump into you in measured strokes, the drag slow enough to keep you dangling over the edge without pushing you over.

Hoseok spanks your ass, hissing between his teeth as you clench around his fingers, no doubt imagining your inner walls hugging his cock instead.

“Christ. You’re always such a soft, wet little thing down here,” he croons in dulcet tones. “I could play with you all day.”

You thrust your hips back, shameless.

“Please! Please Daddy, I’ll be so good, I just - please - I nuh, need it. Need your cock fucking me full. I’ll take it so good, you know I will. Want you to - please! Daddy, I need your cum.”

“Shit.”

He fumbles in his haste to flip you onto your back. He crawls over your body, and you watch fascinated as he dives down to kiss you like a man starved. He looks almost feral, pupils so dilated the brown of his eyes is almost gone.

Heat blooms in your stomach as he kisses you deeply. The press of his lips against yours renders you a little less coherent as time ticks on, every brush of his tongue making you a little more dizzy with want.

Everything about him burns. It feels like being kissed by the sun itself. Every caress, every lick and nip leaves you feverish all over, like your drunk off his touch.

"Let me," he says, pinching the zipper of your dress between his thumb and index finger.

You wrap your hand around his and guide his movements. His gaze never leaves yours and it makes shivers run down your back. Even though you're the one controlling his movements for the time being, the look in his eyes makes it abundantly clear that the control you wield is only temporary.

When your dress finally falls open, you try not to preen too much under the reverent look that falls over Hoseok’s face. Your back arches a little off the bed, pert breasts thrust towards him - an appealing offer he doesn’t dare refuse.

Hoseok circles a thumb around your nipple, rubbing and flicking until it hardens into a stiff peak.

You wonder, distantly, how this looks like from the outside looking in. The man in front of you is a stranger in all senses of the word. Yet the way he touches you - like there are years of built-up affection behind every gesture - makes you second guess everything you know.

"Fuckin' love your tits.” He sighs, awe reflected in the dark of his eyes. "Love playing with them. Love how wet it gets you, how hungry your little pussy gets."

"Please,” you mewl, his words igniting a new wave of heat. It rolls over your body, leaving no extremity untouched. You burn from the inside out with raw desire.

You squeeze your own breasts in a bid to get him to touch you more. Hoseok merely chuckles, finding your desperation entertaining. One of his hands reach down between you to play with the wetness that clings to your core like a second skin and it takes everything inside of you not to rub yourself against him like a bitch in heat.

"What is it, princess?" His lips quirk into a smirk like he already knows the answer. "You're looking quite needy. How did you manage to hold it in all this time?"

“Stop teasing,” you growl, the lack of friction making you irritable. "I need your cock. And why - why do you have so many fucking clothes on?”

He chuckles, chest vibrating in amusement.

“Take them off,” you insist. Then, you grudgingly tack on a “Please” for good measure.

As hot as Hoseok looks like in his “work clothes”, he looks infinitely better naked, you decide as he chucks off his button-down shirt and gets started on his leather belt. With each new piece of clothing that gets discarded, the anticipation building inside of you skyrockets.

You take a moment to soak in his lithe figure, not bothering to hide how affected you are by the view. He’s nicely sculpted; you can tell right away that he takes care of himself. Swimming or dancing maybe? You hesitate between the two. His muscles are lean, nothing like the bulging biceps and thick forearms typical of the stereotypical gym rat.

Hoseok’s dick is, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the rest of him. It’s long and curved, a prominent vein running along its underside. The thatch of pubic hair that rests above his dick is neatly trimmed, the dark hair contrasting with the tan skin of his abdomen and the rosy hue of his erect length. Your eyes swoop down his thighs, licking your lips unwittingly at the alluring sight presented to you.

“Daddy,” you say, the whine in your voice unmistakable. “Want your cock.”

For a brief moment you’re tricked into believing he’s given in to your demand, but find yourself disappointed when he contents himself with rubbing his hardened member between your thighs, the glide slippery thanks to the copious amount of your essence that’s pooled there.

“Like this?” Hoseok asks, tone too sweet to be anything but mocking. The head of his cock bumps into your swollen bundle of nerves one, two, three times. You keen, your hips canting upwards in a bid to get more friction. “Want to rut against me until you get nice and creamy?”

He uses his right hand to spread your slick lower lips so that he can nestle his cock snuggly between them. He rolls his hips, the undulations fluid and dirty, and smirks at how you moan brokenly beneath him.

Your stomach clenches. “Need it in me."

"You'll get it," he promises after kissing you sloppily, lips sucking on your tongue. His breath is ragged but his voice steady, firm. "I'll give you everything you need. Make you cum so many times you know who owns this sweet pussy."

He speaks so surely, carries himself with so much confidence, that in the moment you can't help but believe him. The line between staged and reality blurs and you find yourself nodding eagerly, begging him as best you can to give you what you want.

The first tentative push of his dick wipes you clean of coherency. He slowly eases himself into you, reaching forward to lace his fingers with yours. It’s - more intimate than you expected. He squeezes your hand tightly in his when he finally manages to bury his entire length inside of you.

“Perfect.” He kisses the side of your temple before drawing back, his hard cock dragging deliciously against you. With a fluid hip thrust, he slides back in and you feel the stretch moreso this time around. The curvature of his cock has him pressing up against your walls in a way that robs you of breath.

"Daddy! Hh - ah, oh God. You're too b-big."

"Mhm, that's right. Daddy's fat cock is splitting you open. I'll plug you up with it later so none of my cum will leak out."

Every time he pulls back, your pussy clamps down tightly around him, unwilling to be empty even for a second.

Hoseok’s nostrils flare in arousal. He grabs your left tit and squeezes, using it as a hold to better fuck into you. With his body hovering above yours, his hand staking claim of your breast, and his cock drilling into you, you have nowhere to go. Pinned to the bed and unable to do anything but take everything he delivers, you wrap your legs around his waist and moan.

"Daddy's gonna fuck some babies into you,” he rasps, his eyes dark pools of lust. "Gonna breed your sweet pussy over and over. You'll be so full of my cum that you'll be pregnant with my babies for sure."

“Oh fuck. Yes, yes - oh my nhhg.” You sob as Hoseok drives his cock into you with more force. While the piston of his hips isn’t rushed, he pulls out to the tip only to slam back in to the hilt every time. The stretch burns in a good way and the sound of your moans are rivaled only by the wet, obscene sounds from your coupling.

"Fuck. Your cunt just - shit." He cracks down a hand against your ass and you shriek, not expecting it. "You're so tight, holy shit."

"Want it. Want you to fuck me good."

"I will," he says lowly, the promise reverberating deep in his chest. "I'll fuck you until you're begging me to stop. Fill you up so much, you'll be bloated with it."

And it should freak you out, the imagery he paints with his words, but the thought of laying there and him fucking you so well that you won't be able to feel your legs has you gushing out more wetness.

"Mmmh.” Maybe he can feel how soaked you are because he comments, “This is my favorite hole of yours, princess. Always so fuckin' drenched. I bet we’ll have to throw out the sheets again." He chuckles. "You must be hungry for it, right? I made you wait so long. No wonder your pussy is clenching like that. It needs a big, fat cock to milk dry."

“I missed it,” you cry, body skidding a little higher up the duvet each time he fucks into you. Your eyelashes flutter, lids heavy. It’s hard to concentrate, let alone form words, when your brain feels like complete mush. “I - I need your cum. Daddy, please.”

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I've got you. Daddy will feed your cute pussy his cock."

"Th-thank you, Daddy."

"Love you," he murmurs. It’s a quiet confession, lost somewhere in between the mattress creaks, the loud slaps of Hoseok’s hips slamming against yours, and the string of whimpers and groans pulled from your throat. It’s quiet but you hear it.

One of your hands reach up to pull him down by the neck so that your lips meet. He kisses you open-mouthed. It’s a filthy kiss, one that makes you moan into his mouth. You’re certain that if you had been standing your knees would have wobbled.

When you let up for air, Hoseok’s staring you down, his red-bitten lips plump and shiny.

"Love this pussy. So sweet and wet for me. Always for fucking swollen, like it's waiting to get a pounding. Love that. Love how eager you are to be bred by my thick cock."

The impregnation kink is - a bit much. You've never really imagined having kids, at least not anytime soon. You can’t even keep your plants alive for fuck’s sake.

But the way he suggests it is nothing like what you had imagined. His suggestions are - vulgar and primal. Like the urge to fuck you full of his cum is biological and he can’t smother it.

For a moment, you let yourself entertain the thought of being his breeding bitch - of laying on your back and letting him fuck load after load of cum inside you until your pussy physically can't accommodate any more. Of not having any other worries or thoughts but take his cock every moment of the day.

"You just got tighter.” He curses under his breath, voice thick with arousal. "Such a warm little hole. Taking everything I give it. You'd take anything if it meant getting bred by me, right?"

“Yes, yes,” you chant, pleasure coiling inside of you. “Give me more! I need it."

"Shit. You can't handle more, princess," he tries to reason. "Daddy needs to be gentle with you. Your hole is so small, it'll hurt if I go harder."

"Daddy promised to fuck me.” You whine, uncaring if you sound too bratty and demanding. "B- Breed my hole. It's yours. Puh-please use me."

"God." Hoseok groans, his features twisting in what looks to be pain or pleasure. With tremendous effort he pulls himself out of you and your eyes widen in panic.

“What? Daddy why? I thought—”

He shushes you, reaching somewhere overhead to grab a fluffy pillow. "Just wait a sec, okay? There you go.”

The pillow is placed underneath your hips, keeping them elevated. When Hoseok takes his glistening cock in hand and directs it back in, you both moan in unison.

"Oh fuck, I’m gonna, ah,” you gasp as your mind goes blank with pleasure. The new angle is heaven on earth. It’s almost too much, too quick, but Hoseok’s firm grip on your hips prevents you from alleviating the pressure.

"Take it." He grunts, brows knit together. Every powerful snap of his hips makes your breasts bounce, your breath hitch. Without his hands keeping you pinned down, your head would have collided with the headboard by now. "Be a good princess and take your fucking."

He gains momentum, the new angle facilitating the slide of his cock. He drags the flat of his palm down your thigh and takes a hold of your knee before hoisting it up over your shoulder. The stretch burns the back of your calves but you’re so fucked out, you can’t even find the words to complain.

When you glance up, it’s to fall upon the sight of Hoseok brushing his sweaty fringe out of his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, his skin dewy from the film of perspiration wrapped around his body. Beads of sweat trickle down his heaving chest but he chooses to forgo a quick break. On the contrary, he pushes in deeper like he’s determined to carve out a permanent space for his cock.

"Just gonna keep you here,” he huffs, his eyes the shade of cloudless night sky. “Everyday I'll fuck my cum back inside of you so that you'll always stay full. Want to fuck you forever. Don't want this to end."

"Want it too," you sob, orgasm hovering just on the periphery. "Want you to keep me full forever. Ugh - oh fuck! Hoseok- I'm—"

"You gonna cum around my cock, princess?" He angles his hips downwards, relishing in the wanton cry it elicits. "Gonna give me everything?"

"I'm yours," you profess, jaw slack with pleasure.

It doesn’t take much more for the orgasm to crash over you, Hoseok fucks you through it, groaning as your inner walls spasm around him. He breathes out curses, lip drawn tight between his lips, and doesn’t wait for the last waves of your orgasm to abate to chase after his own end.

In the throes of your pleasure, it doesn’t register then that Hoseok has been holding back all this time. If you thought he had been fucking you hard before, it’s nothing compared to now. He growls and bends forward, forcing your leg to stretch even more, and pushes in and out of you at a pace that makes you scream.

You don’t even have time to come down from your first high that you’re already thrown towards your second. Hoseok plugs your mouth up using two digits, his fingers a firm pressure against your tongue. Your eyes roll back, too overwhelmed from the feeling of being stuffed on both ends.

“God, I could fuck your holes all fucking day.” His rhythm begins to falter as the pressure inside of him grows, his movements frantic and less controlled than they’ve ever been. “How about that? I’ll fuck my princess’ mouth properly next time, stretch it out nicely. Then you’ll let me have your ass, hm?”

Shit, shit, you whimper around his fingers, spit bubbling down the sides on your mouth. It’s scary knowing you have no way to stop the oncoming destruction.

“Yeah, I can tell you love that. You’re gonna cream my dick again, aren’t you?” You can’t tell if the sound he makes is a laugh or a grunt. All you know is that you feel like you’re about to burst. “C’mon, be a good girl and milk my cum out. You better get every last drop.”

There’s an underlying threat in his command. You do your best to obey his words, not wanting to disappoint.

Hoseok pushes his cock in as deep as it can go and grinds his hips into yours. His cock reaches so deep that you swear he might hit your cervix. And considering the nature of the scene you’re portraying, maybe that’s what he intends.

He swipes his fingers through the mess of your cunt, zeroing in on your sensitive clit. He swirls some of your fluids over it before giving it a sharp pinch that makes you cry out. Your hips fly off the pillow but Hoseok is quick to pin you back down. The never-ending drag of his cock along your walls paired with the rough ministrations to your clit is all you need for the pressure inside you to snap.

Above you, Hoseok moans, low and throaty, as he finally dumps rope after rope of warm cum inside of you. He throws his head back, exposing the collar of purplish bruises you sucked onto his skin earlier. Something about the view satisfies you immensely - not that you’d dare voice these thoughts out loud.

Hoseok’s strength gives out and he sags onto your body, his breath warm against your skin. He feels hot, like a furnace, but strangely it’s not uncomfortable. It’s almost like having a personal heating pad; the soreness of your muscles melts away with each passing moment.

Much to your displeasure, your post-coital bliss doesn’t last forever. He's given the signal to pull out and obeys, careful to keep your hips propped up so that his load of cum won’t slosh out. He’s still got a role to play, after all, and the end goal is to get you pregnant.

A cameraman walks forward to zoom in on your swollen and used pussy - physical proof of your exploits. The haze lifts. You become more aware of the people standing on the outskirts of your vision, lighting or sound equipment in hand.

“And that’s a wrap!” Director Ryu calls, his cheeks stretched to accommodate the width of his grin. “Good job everybody!”

You breathe out a sigh, glad your day is finally over. Seokjin walks up to you with a robe for you to throw on and you nod in thanks, slipping the satin gown over your sweaty body.

Around you, the staff start milling about, putting the equipment away and gathering their belongings. You pay them no heed, your attention focused on getting changing into showering and changing into comfortable clothes. You’re in the middle of taming your messy hair when your stomach erupts into growls, reminding you of your hungry state. What you’d do for a big slice of piz—

You remember your date with Jimin and speed up, not wanting to make him wait around for you any longer. It’s not hard to spot him - he’s waiting outside of your dressing room, can of coke in hand.

Something about his smile feels off.

Maybe it’s the way his eye corners don’t crease or the slight strain the curve of his mouth that betray him.

Your expression falls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing - it’s nothing, don’t worry,” he says after a short, tense moment of silence. The look on your face must have reflected your feelings of doubt because he proceeds by reaching out and pulling you tight against him. Pressed up against his shirt, you can smell the faintest trace of the fabric softener he uses and its scent, familiar and sweet, mollifies you somewhat. “You did amazing today, baby. As usual.”

The compliment you’ve been waiting for makes the sides of your lips rise automatically. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Almost too well.” He hums, one of his hands stroking the back of your head.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit, “ you admit. “The results wouldn’t have been half as good if Hoseok hadn’t been my partner. He’s new in the game but he doesn’t act like it, does he?”

“He doesn’t, no.” Jimin agrees. “He’s... he’s something, alright.”

Your grin widens. All your worrying had been for nothing, in the end. The shoot had gone without a hitch, all of the set members coming up to you with praises of a job well done. You can’t recall the last time any of your performances had elicited such a response post-filming. Even Director Ryu looks particularly pleased, a permanent grin etched onto his features as he reviews the tapes. The knowledge that you’ve done well fills you with a pleasant giddiness that warms your insides and makes your cheeks hurt from how wide your smile stretches.

“Oh good, you’re still here.” Hoseok beams. A damp towel hangs around his neck and the ends of his hair are wet like he’s just gone and doused his head under the bathroom faucet. “I was worried you had left. I just - thanks for earlier. I had a lot of fun! If the chance presents itself, I hope we can work together again.”

“Thank you.” You want to praise him too, know that his performance deserves it, but your next words are cut off before they have the chance to form. Jimin steps closer to you, his grip on your hip tightening suddenly.

When you glance up to check on your boyfriend, he’s sporting a serious expression that you’ve rarely seen before. He doesn’t look angry, but it’s clear as day that he isn’t too pleased with the present situation. His face is closed off, cold, unwelcoming - so drastically different from the usual cherubic sweetness you’re accustomed to seeing.

You’re at a loss for words, unsure of who to address first. What’s going on?

Hoseok senses the sudden change in atmosphere and chooses to tactfully retreat.

“Good work, man.” He nods at Jimin and then shoots you a wave. “See you around sometime, ______ !”

Your eyes follow his exit before you turn to face Jimin again, hoping the smile on your face masks the worry you feel bubbling on the inside.

“Jimin what - I mean, are you sure you're okay?”

Jimin returns a strained smile of his own. “I’m fine.”

Your gaze lands on his right hand that’s still squeezing your waist. It borders on uncomfortable but you try not to let it show. You must not do a very good job at schooling your features because Jimin quickly apologizes for his behavior.

“Sorry.” Jimin lets you go once he notices your discomfort. “I just - I don’t know. You’re right, I’m not acting like myself. I think...seeing you say that stuff and act that way just - I’m not sure why, I guess - Since usually the sex isn’t like that, it caught me off guard.”

“You didn’t like that I acted like I was in love with him.”

“Would anyone?” he shoots back, smile sardonic. “It just looked so convincing in the moment. I guess it got me worked up.”

Sure, Hoseok is hot. If you had to work with him again, you would in a heartbeat. It’s not often you land a colleague you’re so sexually compatible with, who also happens to be so well-mannered and good-looking. It’s like hitting the jackpot, really.

But - just because you’d fuck him again for professional reasons, doesn’t mean that you’re interested in him beyond that.

“Jimin. I don’t want to be with anybody else but you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” The muscles in his face relax. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

It’s not until later, as he fucks you uncharacteristically hard in the backseat of his car parked in the back lot of the film studio, that you begin to wonder if things really are as idyllic as you believe them to be.

#wow so this took a decade and a half to finish but it's finally here !#final part should be up by the end of the month : )#bts smut #hoseok smut #hoseok #also warning i didn't proofread the smut scene yet so rip if there are any mistakes

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yikeswtfmate · 4 years

Text

Peonies

Pairing: Tattoo Artist! Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve has a new client who knows exactly what she wants. And a tattoo.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: language; filth F I L T H, i’m not joking this is smut (praise kink; slight daddy kink; fingering; slight spanking; unprotected sex; hair pulling??? Steve Rogers’ face??????????)

A/N: listen. LISTEN. Steve Rogers has been the bane of my existence for too many days to count now, so i had to let it all out somehow, ok? @the-chocolate-moose is the sole reason for me unleashing this filth on you all so go yell at her if you don’t like my first ever attempt at smut, i can’t be held responsible

A/N2: THIS is what prompted this whole thing; have these images in your heads as well, so now sit back and enjoy this fuckery

A/N3: @the-chocolate-moose suggested i name this Peonies bc “it’s nice and close to penis”; i thought “just fuck me up man idc anymore” would be more fitting

masterlist

Steve is not in the mood today. He’s not in the mood to listen to Nat constantly blowing and popping her gum, he’s not in the mood to watch Sam obsessively clean the leather seats in the entire studio, he’s not in the mood to smell the acrid odour of cigarettes that Bucky brings in with him after he’s had his break.

He’s definitely not in the mood to feel his tshirt sticking to his back and shoulders as he’s working on the design of a new tattoo. With the AC broken, he’s more than grateful for the small autumn breeze that occasionally wafts in through the open doors. Maybe he should just close for the day. After all, none of them have any appointments left and who even comes in to get a tattoo at 4 pm on a Friday?

“Hi.”

Steve looks up from his notebook to be greeted by a woman leaning on the high counter. She’s smiling, a cheeky grin that he’s only ever noticed in regular customers whenever they come up with a new idea for a tattoo. Her fingers tap on the mahogany, indicating nervousness and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear when he hikes his glasses up on his head.

“Hi.” Steve smiles – customer service force of habit or just because she’s so damn gorgeous? “How can I help you?”

“Well, uh – I’m here for a tattoo obviously.” She says, eyes flashing down for a second. “My friend recommended your studio and I was in the neighbourhood anyway, so I thought I’d stop by to make an appointment.”

“What do you have in mind?” Steve asks, taking out the planner, ready to find a free spot for her.

“Oh, I want my hip covered in peonies.” She says with such nonchalance as if she’s just going to buy some milk.

A quick inspection of the upper part of her body over the counter makes Steve wonder if she does have any tattoos and whether she knows what she’s getting into. His weariness must be written all over his face because she just giggles and waves her hand in dismissal.

“Don’t worry. I have a pretty big back tattoo. I know I’m going to be yours for at least five hours.”

And the way she says it, a corner of her lips raised into a tiny smirk and her head tilting to one side makes Steve lick his lips. He chuckles, shaking his head because he’d be damned if he doesn’t like the way she’s making it sound. He’s more than aware of her eyes on him as he stands up and invites her to take a seat on the couch. Planner and notebook in his hands, he settles down next to her, without failing to notice the way her tight skirt rides up her thighs when she scuttles closer to him.

“Tell me.” He says, glasses back on the bridge of his nose and pen on paper.

“Right, well I want it big.” And there it is, that amused tone in her voice again, but he’s more focused on her fingers brushing the top of her hipbone to the middle of her thigh. “And I want it in illustrative style because I can’t deal with blackwork and watercolours are just too much for me.”

Soon Steve has a pretty clear idea of exactly what she (Y/N, he found out earlier, after she’s repeated his name, tasting it on her tongue like a particularly delicious candy) wants; she seems to know a lot about tattoos, and he would be lying if he would say that doesn’t turn him on just a little bit. Maybe that’s why he can’t help himself from biting his finger, while listening to her. He’s excited to start to work on her tattoo, and he’s more than excited to spend some time with her, so when she asks him whether they’re open on Sunday he doesn’t even take time to consider.

“No, but I can open up only for you.” He offers and he doesn’t miss the thought that can be clearly seen on her face for a split fraction of a second.

“So it would only be the two of us in an empty studio while you’d be working on me for – how many hours did you say? Four?” Her eyes narrow, her voice purring and her fingers lightly graze his forearm.

“At least.” He nods, playing into her game with a smirk.

“Well, then. Being yours for at least four hours does not sound bad at all, Steve.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Y/N.”

Bucky and Sam give him hell after Y/N’s left, hooting and hollering like two fucking teenagers. Steve just rolls his eyes at them, ignoring their jabs and lewd jokes, but he doesn’t miss Nat’s knowing smile.

“What?” He snaps when she wouldn’t look away. “What???”

“Nothing.” She shrugs. “It’s just funny how you wouldn’t even show her our portfolios.”

“Why?” He asks defensively. “You don’t do big ink, Bucky only does watercolour and Sam’s on holiday next week anyway.”

“But she’s coming in on Sunday.” Sam points out, chuckling.

“And you seem to have all the answers to support your already possessive behaviour there, punk.” Bucky laughs.

“Fuck off, all of you.” Steve grumbles, already on his way to the back of the studio where he can work in silence on what must be now his new favourite flowers.

“Just make sure you don’t drool on her when you’re gonna tattoo her, bud!” Nat yells after him and he slams the door shut on a wave of laughter.

It’s Sunday and Steve looks at the clock right when it turns exactly 4 o’clock. His gaze instinctively turns to the door, but of course he shouldn’t expect her to be there right on the dot. Instead he looks down at the paper, trying to decide whether it’s detailed enough or too detailed? Is it too big? Too small? Would she like it? Would she want to have his work on her body for the rest of her life? And then another shiver runs along his spine, fingers twitching in anticipation, and his cock might pulse just one second at that particular thought – his work on her body for the rest of her life.

Steve’s startled out of his thoughts by a quick rapping on the glass door. She’s standing there, smile already evident on her face and he takes his time observing her as he makes his way over. He silently praises her for choosing a flowing skirt today, he knows that last tight one would’ve been hell on freshly tattooed skin; yet she’s making up for it with a very tight tiny top. Thank fuck for this particularly warm autumn.

“Hi!” She beams, stepping in and letting him lock behind her. “Ready to do me?”

Steve chokes on fucking air, but he has the good sense to start laughing. He’s thankful her back is to him because he already has to adjust his fucking jeans. She’s throwing her bag on the couch, takes in a big breath and turns to look at him, practically vibrating with excitement. Steve raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on it – he knows how addictive the experience can become, his plethora of tattoos can only stand as an example.

“We’re gonna be in the back, babe.” Steve says absentmindedly, as he goes to pick up the hectograph paper.

“Babe?” She remarks, closer to him than he thought, her breath right on his cheek. “I hope you don’t call all your clients that.”

The tips of Steve’s ears turn pink. He hadn’t realised what he said, and he definitely wouldn’t have said it out loud, but every time he’s thought about Y/N in the last days his mind only supplied him with the image of her saying his name, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, her fingers on the tattoos on his right forearm while staring in wonder – babe, be a doll and suck my cock. Pink on his cheeks now as well.

“Come on, big boy. Show me where you want me.” Y/N winks and she’s already sauntering off to the back door.

It’s not his fault that all his blood is rushing to his dick now, it really isn’t. It’s her swaying ass and those long legs that will be completely bare in just a few seconds. Or maybe her inability to say anything without making it sound like an innuendo. Whatever it is, Steve has to readjust his jeans again.

He’s behind her in a few seconds, and he knows she’s doing it on fucking purpose when she steps back into his chest to open the door. She smells like vanilla and patchouli and Steve grunts deep in his throat; she doesn’t even apologise, instead she just tilts her head back until she can look at him and grins.

“You’re really big, did you know that?”

Steve just smirks and with a well-placed hand on her hip, he guides her forward. He can hear the faint giggle; the little minx is playing and she has him lapping from her hands, but two can play at this game, and he doesn’t like losing.

The room is definitely darker than the sunlit reception, but the bright lamp right next to the leather bed makes up for it. It almost feels as if it’s night, and Steve notices the way her back arches just an inch.

She hops on the bed, feet dangling over and she’s holding out her arms, reaching for the paper in his hand. Steve hands it to her without much preamble, and sits down in his chair, set to prepare the ink and his gun. He’s suddenly very aware of the closed door and how small this room is so he’s trying to distract himself in case she’ll be disappointed.

A gasp escapes her lips, making his head snap up. Now or never he supposes, but she’s grinning widely.

“I love it.” She whispers and there’s relief rushing through his entire body. Pleased, more than pleased to be entirely fair – he’s fucking aroused by her praise. Interesting.

“Do you want me to make any changes to it?” Steve asks, remembering that he’s actually supposed to do his job right now, and not get a fucking boner over her glinting eyes. “You’re gonna have this on you for the rest of your life so now’s the time to voice any concerns, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s perfect.” She promises and hands him the paper. Hopping off the bed, she looks at him, maintaining eye contact as she speaks. “Now. Should I get this skirt off or do you wanna do it, babe?”

And there it is. Back to being a little shit, especially when throwing that ‘babe’ back at him. Steve grunts and waves his go ahead, turning back to his gun. He refuses to look at her, to watch her shimmy out of the flowery thing, to look at her legs stepping out of it, to see the smirk on her face that he’s more than sure she’s sporting. He hears that small huff of air she lets out when she lays down, hears the creak of the bed under her body, hears the big inhale he has to take in before he moves his chair to finally face her.

Oh, fuck.

It’s not the long legs or the curve of her thighs or that very glaring dip that he’d so like to explore that do it for him, it’s the panties she’s wearing – red, lacy, small. His hands are hovering above her, blinking lazily over the expanse of skin and she must know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, exactly what he’s thinking.

“You know,” she purrs from somewhere to his side. He’s not sure, because her thighs are rubbing together now. “I think I’ll have to take these off as well, considering how big it’s going to be.”

And that’s it. Steve’s had enough of it. He looks down at her, sees her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, one hand right above the line of her underwear, the other squeezing the edge of the bed. He grumbles deep in his chest, which makes her pupils dilate even more. Does she want to play then? Fine, he’ll give her something to play with.

“Yes, I think it would be best if you would.” He says, leaning back into his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest.

She’s startled then, confused for a moment at his blatant answer, but it’s easy to read his smirk. Easy to read what an arm over the armrest and a finger in his teeth means, as his tongue darts out to wet his lips – waiting. Are you going to do this? Daring her.

“Come on, baby, are you going to take them off for me?” He prods further, and it seems that does it for her.

Fingers slip under the waistband and he watches as she lifts up her ass, dragging them over her thighs, knees up and completely off. The piece of cloth dangles from her finger, as she offers it to him in her own silent dare. Are you going to do something about this?

“Any other requests, sir?”

His cock twitches once more, as if he isn’t already fucking hard with her half naked in front of him, an inch away from his touch. He stands up, grabs the panties and tucks them in his back pocket.

She squirms under his stare, legs pressed together but he doesn’t like that. One finger on her knee, and he pushes it to the side, then does the same thing with the other one. Pussy on display, his mouth is watering just as much as she’s dripping on the leather.

He leans closer, hands now behind his back and she’s shivering under his breath on her ear.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He grunts.

A whine and her fingers grab his forearm in a vice like grip. “You know what I want.”

“You have to use your words, Y/N.” Steve tuts.

She groans in frustration, letting her head fall back. “Please, Stevie, I need you to fuck me.”

He smirks then. An eye for an eye, wasn’t it? But she’s pleading and he’s been thinking about fucking her for three days straight already. He’s not in the mood to delay this any further – he’ll have time to savour her inch by inch later. For now, he just wants to fuck her.

He takes off his jeans, already feeling some of the tension leaving him. His boxers follow and he smiles like a Cheshire cat when her reaction is to lick her lips and sit up on the bed in anticipation. She wanted to play, didn’t she?

Steve sits back down on his chair, slowly, languidly and looks up at her. She’s waiting, but he notices the twitch in her fingers, the way her legs press together and she’s squirming on the bed, trying to find some kind of friction. He smiles then – benevolently, like a generous benefactor and raises his eyebrows. What do you want?

“Please.” She moans – practically drooling.

Steve pats his thigh, “Come on, baby. Come here.”

Y/N is on top of him immediately, straddling him, fingers grazing his scalp, tugging at his hair. His hands circle her waist, big hands on her hips and he’s guiding her down until she can rut against his legs. Her lips are on his then, biting, tugging, moaning into his mouth, lapping at each corner, saliva dripping just like her pussy.

“Please, Steve. Please.” She whimpers, because fuck she needs more, she needs so much more, she needs to have him fill her up and Steve is just there, his cock twitching right on her stomach and she can’t take it anymore.

“What do you want, baby?” He grunts, right when his fingers slip inside her folds and yesrightthereyesfuckohfuckStevefuck. “Are you going to cum for me, honey? You going to cum for daddy?”

And shit, she must’ve not known that was something that she likes, because the moment those words leave his lips, as his fingers so expertly pump into her and his thumb is circling her clit, she throws back her head with a scream. Blinding stars and all the lights in the world play right in front of her eyes, and Steve can feel her pussy clenching around his fingers before he takes them out and licks them clean.

Steve waits for her to regain her breath as he kisses her collarbones softly, before he gets annoyed with the fabric between them. He tugs at her top until she weakly raises her arms, allowing him to throw it somewhere she doesn’t really care about. She does, however, care about the fact that he’s also still wearing his tshirt and that’s just a shame because underneath that it’s the most glorious sight she’s ever seen.

The sleeve tattoos are usually entirely on display, but Steve would be lying if he’d say he doesn’t know the effect the eagle on his chest has or the way that BROOKLYN on his abs is always either licked or touched. And of course, her fingers also instantly follow the letters’ path.

“Fuck.” She whispers.

“That’s what I intend to do, sweetheart.” He grins and with one arm around her waist, he has her standing up, pushing her into the bed, ass in the air.

He’s surprised for a second to see the massive lion tattoo on her back, her previous words forgotten somewhere in his hazy mind. She looks at him over her shoulder when his hand traces the lines, before his tongue licks a strip right through the middle of her spine. She arches back, a shudder going through her whole body when she lines herself just perfectly to him. Steve has to steady her with his hands on her hips before she starts rutting against him again.

“Steve, please.” She mewls and he hears the leather hissing under her fingers.

“Manners.” He grunts, lining himself just right.

“Oh, fuck you, Steve!” She seethes, but her words turn into a moaning hiss when a slap crackles on her ass.

“I said manners, baby.”

A low growl, but she knows what he wants. “Please, daddy. Please, I need you to fuck me, please, I can’t. I just – please, please, please.”

Her chant fills the small room, turning into an entire litany of profanities and obscene noises the moment Steve enters her. He groans when he feels her so tight and wet and warm around him and fuck he’d stay like this forever, if she wouldn’t push back into him, asking him to move already. She settles her forehead on the bed when his large hands squeeze her hips almost painfully, dragging himself slowly back, and then thrusting into her with force. He continues his ministrations painstakingly slowly, until she starts meeting his thrusts.

“Fuck, faster, please. Please, Steve.” She pants, hands scrabbling at the edge of the leather.

Steve grunts when she starts moving again, but a hand in her hair keeps her in place. He starts thrusting deeper, faster, rougher, and her head falls back into the bed, letting him do all the work because fuck if she could keep up with this.

“Is this what you wanted, baby? You wanted me to fuck you hard?” Steve grunts.

Her words are slurred in response, but he picks up the slew of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and his name – his name falling off her lips like a delicious chant, and he’s never heard anything more perfect than the sound of his pounding into her, her moans and his name from her mouth. He can already feel her walls clenching around his cock, so he drags her up by her hair, until her back is pressed to his chest, hand around her throat. Her head falls back onto his shoulder, giving him plenty of access to bite along her neck.

“Are you going to cum for me, baby? Come on, sweetheart, cum for me. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

His movements are becoming frantic, and he removes his hand from her hip to bring it to her clit, rubbing circles on the sensitive bud. She’s whimpering now, breathless and a fucking mess, yet he’s never seen her more beautiful than right in this moment, right when she’s coming undone around his cock. He’s right behind her, the moment he sees her eyes roll back into her head, feeling her go slack in his arms. A growl deep within his chest and they’re both sagging over the bed, spent and fucked into oblivion.

He slips out and she lets out a low hiss at the sudden emptiness. Steve watches the way his cum drips along her thighs, and would care more about how much cleaning up and disinfecting he’s going to have to do later if it weren’t for her nails on his forearm. He looks at her, a smile on his own lips in reply to her blissful grin.

“I think I’m relaxed enough to have that tattoo now.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #tattoo artist!steve rogers #tattoo artist! steve rogers #tattoo artist! steve rogers x reader #tattoo artist!steve rogers x reader

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hobiwonder · 5 years

Text

crazy rich asians | 01

Genre: Chaebol!BTS. maid!reader. Smut, fluff. mild angst.

Pairing: Jin x reader, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x reader, Yoongi x reader. Possible future pairings.

Warnings for this chapter: language. brief mention of oral sex. Kissing !!!

Words: 9k+

Summary: You overhear something you shouldn’t. Now some of the country’s most powerful - and rich - men would do anything to keep you quiet.

a/n: i turned it into a fic as requested!!! ngl…. am worried how people will receive this lol. This will be a short series. no major angst so don’t worry. i hope you guys like it bc i really enjoyed writing it. please let me know what you think n feed my motivation bubble so i dont take months to finish this ajdubejekbfjk.

This was odd. Jin’s eyebrows furrowed – which he was strongly against since premature wrinkles were one of his biggest fears. He was closer to thirty than twenty so his concerns were valid. Jimin almost never visited his childhood home ever since their father got engaged to the secretary – another cliché – a few months ago.

“Hm… what changed your mind little brother.” Jin mutters as he passes the sleek Mercedes that belongs to his younger brother. Nevertheless, he can’t help the sly smirk that fights his muscles and spreads across his porcelain skin. He couldn’t wait to rub it in Jimin’s face that he finally returned when his bank account dried out. Most likely.

The plethora of house staff greeting Jin as he walked along the indoor fountain, trying to acknowledge most of them. They had too many servants and it wasn’t Jin’s fault that he didn’t care about most of them. But it was hard when they all looked so sheepish like they had some wretched secret they were supposed to hide but failed.

“Good Afternoon Sir, what brings you here?” Jin’s long legs are no match for the shorter man who usually took care of everything in the manor so he’s a little breathless as he Jogs besides him.

“To my own house? Where I lived for 20 years?” This really was becoming a strange day.

“A-Ah no sir. I meant no disrespect just wanted to be prepared to accommodate you accordingly.”

“Okay,” This was officially starting to annoy him and the furrow in his forehead was getting deeper. He would not get wrinkles because his servant annoyed him in to it. “Alfred… Anders… Andrew. Whatever your name is, I don’t need to announce my arrival at my own home. On second thought, maybe I should.”

The idea is very appealing as he swirls the thought in his head and it’s enough to make him forget the butler’s calls as he enters Jimin’s private wing. He isn’t surprised though when he already hears faint moans but not of a woman for once. It’s undoubtedly Jimin which is again – peculiar because getting off himself wasn’t something Jimin liked to do if he had ‘several other women ready to do it for me’ if quoting him directly. He guesses there is only one way to find out as he approaches the living area, looking at the back of his head resting on the enormous lounge sofa.

“Well hello there brother!” His tongue doesn’t form anymore words when he can finally see Jimin in his line of view – and his father’s fiancé frantically buttoning her blouse to retain some of her dignity. Jimin on the other hand is taking his sweet time tucking himself inside his slacks – shaking his head in disbelief as if Jin’s caused him immense grief.

“…and Amber.” Jin is no stranger to walking in on his brother – or friends really – indulging in all sorts of debauchery but this – this was quite interesting and to put it simply, messy. “Well, well, well. Did you come back to sleep with our step-mother or actually missed your family, god forbid?”

Jimin is no more rattled than a sloth as he runs his hands through his silky golden hair and smacks Amber’s ass as she’s still fiddling with her blouse. “A bit of both.”

“I-I didn’t know you’d b-be back so quick Jin-ah.” Her pearly white teeth that his father paid way too much for are almost blinding him. Yeah he’s not that bored today to play along with her games so he opts for just a dry smile. This was no surprise to him. Especially when the first person she had a fling with in this household was, well, Jin himself.

“Clearly. Thankfully you know father won’t be home until late. Run along now. I’ve got to catch up with your son.” Okay, that one’s on him. He liked to rub it in her face.

“Step-son.” She’s positively seething and Jin couldn’t be more delighted.

“Ooh. Naughty aren’t you? I knew you were always in a bit of incest.”

Jimin’s snort and Amber’s scoff come at the same time but at least it makes her on her way, heels clicking as she’s strutting away.

“I gave the staff one job and they couldn’t even do that.” Jimin walks towards the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a whiskey at 12 in the afternoon – bringing a smile to his face. He did miss his little brother.

“To keep me from finding Amber swallowing your unborn children?

“Thank fuck for that. I’m not ever going to be ready for kids.”

“Understandable. Considering you are one.” Jin’s shit eating grin makes Jimin pour another glass which he drowns in a second too.

“Please tell me how many ‘kids’ you know who’re worth half a billion dollars?”

Not a trick question.

“Almost all of our friends? Plus, we’re brothers you maggot. And I’m worth more.” His stance widens as he splays his feet out in some sort of power pose.

“What now? You want us sword fighting?” Jimin’s glancing to his crotch before he continues, “I’ll win because somebody didn’t let me finish.” Yes, very evident from the hard tent in his slacks.

“No need to resort to unsanitary methods. Talking will do.” He’s waving his hand in dismissal, watching Jimin taking a seat opposite – absolutely no attempts at hiding his boner. “So, what brings you back? Thought you were up in the Bahamas getting tanned and toned and weren’t due back for a few more weeks?”

“Correct but that was until father announced his surprise engagement.” Jimin is on his third glass of whiskey but looks more sober than a priest.

“Is there anything he does these days that isn’t a surprise? I found out I was moving houses from the real estate agent for god’s sake.” That makes Jimin snort out a laugh.

“Christ. He’s a bastard isn’t he?” Jimin had been in boarding school still when Jin had been effectively moved out of the manor in to a skyscraper penthouse because his father had wanted to ‘relax by himself and no kids’. As if he raised them on his own.

“Yup. Turns out he just needed the house to be snitch-free to fuck his secretary/future step-mom.” Plus he was still going through the divorce with their mother.

“I can understand why.” Jimin’s closing his eyes, heading leaning back again as a sultry smile spreads on his youthful face as if he’s reminiscing an irreplaceable memory. “Amber can make you forget you own name.”

“Right?” Jin is letting his inner, less sophisticated horny teenager alter ego slip through as he agrees with his brother about what a good lay their step-mom is.

“You already tap that?” When Jin just winks in Jimin’s direction, he’s clapping and chuckling like he can’t believe it.

“You’re no better than me brother and please, don’t take that as an insult. No offense at all.”

“None taken.” For a moment Jimin truly feels slightly happier. Looking at his brother and remembering sitting across from him while they talked about everything when they were younger and thought they had a chance at becoming people different than their father or their whole family. He had everything. They both had everything. There wasn’t one thing that either of them lacked or desired. So needless to say, their lives were a little grey and lacked excitement. Money though. That never failed to give him a hard-on.

Seeing his brother also made him happy, sure.

“Remember when we were playing in father’s office that one time he left it unlocked?” Jimin continues when Jin nods slowly, “And remember when we were rummaging through the drawers we found a safe and tried to break into it before Anderson caught us?”

“I knew it! He looked like an Anders.” When Jimin just blankly stares at him he mutters an apology and tells him to continue.

“Anyway. I went back and broke in to the safe.”

“Of course you did,” Jin is rolling his eyes but not finding it surprising that his little brother, ever the inquisitive little cat, went back to do exactly what he was told to notdo.

“No, listen,” Jimin’s eyes are increasingly growing frantic as he shifts forward, abandoning his glass of whiskey and Jin knew that this was something juicy. “There were papers inside the safe. Granddad’s will. I made copies.”

“Wait, you told me there was a bunch of cocaine and ecstasy. Nothing else.” Jimin shrugs once again to ask what was his point.

“And?”

“And you stole the papers but not the drugs? My teenage self hates you so much right now.”

“And that poor bastard should be thankful I looked in to the papers otherwise you would become penniless. Very soon.”

What was Jimin trying to say. “Get to the point Jimin. What about Grandpa’s will?”

Jin’s palms were becoming sweaty and a little tick in his left leg had already started and was about to become a full blown restless leg syndrome like a pathetic little office worker worried about losing a promotion.

“Well,” Jimin is moving across the room to sit beside his older brother, turning his lithe body to the side facing him as he starts to explain. “Grandad’s will stated that we were to receive 10% of our inheritance every year starting at the age of 35. Unless father remarried.”

The mention of money always sped up Jin’s heartbeat. It raced in his chest like he was about to win the lottery. Maybe he was?

“What then… ?” Jimin’s Cheshire grin slowly lighting up his whole face was never a good sign. Until now apparently.

“If he remarried before we turned 35, we are to receive our inheritance. In full. At once.”

Jin really felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. Because that was a lot of money.

“That’s-”

“$10 billion.” There was a slight pause as Jimin eagerly awaited his brother’s reaction.

“I think I just had a powergasm.” Jimin is chuckling as he slaps Jin’s back, shaking his older brother out of joy as they both start to gradually laugh louder. Is this how supervillains felt? Jin’s never laughed like this before and it’s no surprise that it’s money that’s doing the trick. Poor people wouldn’t understand.

That’s when another realisation occurs. “That’s why he kicked me out of the house. Because he was going to get engaged and couldn’t risk us retaliating and finding this bit of information out.”

“Precisely big brother.”

“Fuck…. We’re going to be rich as fuck.”

“If he doesn’t figure out a way to get that clause crossed from the will.” Jimin seems a bit nervous for the first time since he had started talking.

But Jin wasn’t. Not when he had people on his side who would love to make some money as well. Well, more money. He wasn’t friends with poor people.

“Don’t worry about it. You still in contact with Taehyung?” Jimin looks at his older brother with a ‘duh’ face.

“You still have a dick?” Jin’s just rolling his eyes as he calls the first number under ‘Y’.

“What?”

“Hello to you too, Min. Say, you want to become rich?” Yoongi on the other end is snorting before he speaks with his signature lazy drawl.

“I’m already rich, you bitch. But I’m having a down day anyway. Tell me more.”

Jin is smirking towards his brother, his body is buzzing and this is the most excited he;s been a while.

“Meet at my place with the other boys. At 2. Lunch is on me.”

“Yes because I desperately need someone to shout me lunch.” He’s had enough of Yoongi’s sarcasm so he just hangs up.

“Well Jimin, lets go get our billions.” Jimin hands his older brother a glass of whiskey before they make a toast.

“Amen.” Jin furrows his brows again.

“You believe in god now?”

“After seeing Amber’s tits? Yeah.”

“Oh hello there. Eavesdropping were we?” A man is leaning against the wall behind you, hands in his pockets while he looks at you head to toe, two small dimples appearing when he grins rather…. cutely you might add.

“U-Uh, n-no?” The handsome stranger is only shaking his head as he walks towards the door where the two brothers had gone in to only half an hour ago.

“Be careful next time little maid.” You hold in the scoff until he disappears inside the room.

“You guys have better discussed Amber’s ass and nothing else of importance because of the audience outside. The pretty little thing Anders hired.

“How does everyone know his name and not me? You don’t even live here Hoseok.” Jin’s scoffing while Jimin worries about the real problem.

“Fucking hell. The staff in this house is more loyal to our father than their own families. What do we do?”

“Leave that to me. Girls never kiss and tell when they’re with me.” with a wick, Hoseok is settling on the couch as well. “Just transfer me $50 million when you both get the money.”

Oh boy. Being rich was hard.

You were screwed. Or at least it looked like you were. Even though you'd been hired months ago - it was not usual to see the 'house Masters' (that's what Anders had called them anyway so you stuck with it). In fact you could count on one hand how many times you'd seen Kim Seokjin around the mansion. though he didn't live here so that wasn't too surprising at first but you did think that he would at least regularly visit his father. the numerous articles written about this family portrayed them as loyal as you can be to your own blood. What behind closed doors however, was a different story.

The eldest son rarely visited his father and his father, your employer, was even more of a rare sight around the Manor. In the three months you'd worked here, you'd seen Mr. Kim twice. And one of those times was when the annual Christmas dinner was hosted. But even for that, the youngest son, Jimin had not been present. So seeing the new face around the Manor today had confused you very much. But the way his perfectly sculpted features, luscious and shiny - oh god was it shiny - hair had told you that he belonged to this family. How close he was? You weren't sure. Until now.

Now that you'd been caught listening in to the scheming going behind the closed doors. He was the youngest son that was asked about a thousand times at the Christmas dinner and each time both, the father and the son, evaded the questions like experts. He was as handsome as the rest of the family so it didn't surprise you much when you found out his identity. Especially when the future house mistress had been lead in to the room by him, all smiles and charming demeanour. You'd naively thought that the step-mother and son - though she looked too good for her age as all rich people did - had quite a close relationship even though this was the first time you were seeing Master Jimin home. Until the moaning had sounded obnoxiously out in the hallway. Anders had tried his best to get to be anywhere other than cleaning the massive hallway that all the rooms connected to but in the end, you'd gravitated towards the noises. Knowing it was wrong for you to listen but not being able to help yourself. The young master's voice was so melodic, so serene, you were almost forgetting that the said noises weren't as innocent as the emotions they were evoking in you.

Your heart had sped up and your fingers had tugged down your uniform subconsciously at the erotic noises emitting from the room. Imagining yourself to be on the giving end of the scenario playing out in the room. But your fantasies had been broken when you'd hear Anders and Mr. Kim's older son's booming voice coming down the hallway. Quickly ducking back in to one of the rooms you were supposed to start dusting in, you'd only caught glimpse of the incredibly handsome Kim Seokjin reprimanding Anders for making him feel unwelcome in his own home. Though you felt for the poor old man. He was nice and looked after you more than you had expected. And the amount of work he had to see through was incredible and you were amazed at how he never failed to complete each and every one of his tasks. Except keeping Mr. Kim out of the young master's room that is. You'd heard the cheeky tone in Jimin's voice when he'd asked Anders to make sure that no one disturbs them. You'd thought stupidly that maybe they wanted to spend quality time with each other since Jimin was back home after a long time. And they spent quality time alright. The noises were a testament to that.

You were suddenly feeling the nervous butterflies in your stomach at the prospect of Jimin being found out by his older brother. And with his step mother no less. Like youwere the one doing something that scandalous. Craning your neck you'd tried to hear, maybe yelling? You'd assumed - wrongly, again - that the older master Kim would be horrified at finding out the debauchery going on inside the room but all you'd seen was a ruffled Amber - you think that's her name from the moans at least - and then joyous laughter which could only mean the brothers meeting. Rich people were bizarre. Did they not have any morals? Nothing settling uneasy in their conscience?

Not that you were any better because you were plainly eavesdropping and that was not how your mother raised you. Though she didn't raise you that much at all in all honesty. But she was quick to correct your mishaps or seemingly 'dishonest' activities. That was all she did really. Mostly your grandmother raised you until you were kicked out at the ripe age of 18 by your mother to 'find your own way' like her crack addicted self told you. She preached but never practiced her own self-righteous attitude more than when she needed to keep you under control. Though your visit down the memory lane is interrupted when your ears catch on to what the two men inside were talking about. The words 'cocaine' catch your attention - it was your mother's favourite at one point. Listening on further was just pure coincidence. But boy oh boy. What were you hearing? Were they going to possibly.... hurt someone for even more money? How much more could they want? They already had enough of it. You didn't realise the pout that had been on your face while you listened to the two brother calling a friend for some 'help'.

Not until someone was clearing their throat behind you, damn near making you knock your head against the wall you had been absentmindedly wiping for the hundredth time. Initially - for the millisecond of the reaction time you had available - you thought Anders would be the one to catch you and for some reason, you weren't as scared. Hence the sheepish smile on your face when you turn around to face whoever it was that had caught you so blatantly trying to listen to whatever was happening. Though your smile - as well as your heart - drops instantly when you see an unfamiliar face in front of you, yet again. And once again - the stranger is handsome, incredibly so. In fact, the toothy grin he's beaming your way is nearly blinding. His white teeth - definitely not natural, though you wouldn't be surprised if they were - smiling up at you as he leant against the wall besides you. How did you not hear him? His body was lithe and somehow you're not surprised that he snuck up on you so easily. Nonetheless, he did and you were in major trouble. He was good-looking enough for you to figure out that he probably belonged in the two master's circle.

“Oh hello there. Eavesdropping were we?” The man is leaning against the wall behind you, hands in his pockets while he looks at you head to toe, two small dimples appearing when he grins rather…. cutely you might add.

“U-Uh, n-no?” The handsome stranger is only shaking his head as he walks towards the door where the two brothers had gone in to only half an hour ago.

"No! Uh I mean. N-No... that's what I mean." You're hoping the desperation in your eyes gives him a hint that you rather not get in to trouble.

“Be careful next time little maid.” His smirk doesn't dissolve. In fact, it seems to get wider. Most likely being able to tell how hard you're trying to make it seem like you were doing the right thing. Definitely not eavesdropping. The handsome stranger is only shaking his head as he walks towards the door where the two brothers had gone in to only half an hour ago. Still watching you.

But alas, your mind malfunctions and the only thing you can think of is to get out of there. Too many good looking men you've seen to last you a decade. You're scurrying away back to the room you were originally supposed to be in and you can hear his chuckle even as you go further down the hallway to the room.

Slumping against the wall, your hand clutches just above where your heart should be. You were sofired. There was no way that whoever this was would not mention you lurking outside the room. Who was he anyway? Oh well, not that you would get to find out because you were stupidly caught eavesdropping. Eavesdropping! How cliché. It was impossible to focus on your work knowing that you will be in immense trouble. Pacing back and forth, rehearsing excuses and explanations to give Anders on why you were outside of your given area. And caught by a guest no less. From what you'd gathered about the older Kim son - he couldn't care less about your presence in the house.

One time he'd come in the living area, stayed for over two hours without acknowledging that you were even in the room. In fact, when Anders had called out to you to return to lend a hand at the kitchen is when he'd looked up at you as if it was the first time he was hearing a name that wasn't his own. Even then, he'd only looked at you for a mere few seconds before going back to the book he'd been reading.

But the newcomer - or old you guess, you'd only just started working after all - you weren't sure how he'd react to finding out your roaming outside his room. Surely, he would be just as aloof and uncaring of a mere maid as you, right? Maybe not if the handsome stranger told him about how well you'd been listening to the conversation inside. Oh lord. This was the only job that paid enough for you to send home and also keep a roof over your head. What were you going to do? You minded your own business but the one day curiosity got you was when you've been caught. Just your luck. Your mother was right. Your curiosity will be your end. And seems like it will be now as well judging from the sound of the doors opening from the young master's suite and several pairs of footsteps coming towards the room you were in.

Your limbs moving like lightning, making sure each and every one of the vases was picked up and dusted through thoroughly - it's obvious you're trying to look as occupied as possible. A few seconds later, the footsteps stop right outside the room you're in and your heart might as well have stopped pumping blood through your body as well with the way your temperature drops from the impending doom. Had they told on you already? Was Anders also outside the door? If he was alone you could've tried to weasel your way out of such a mishap but you doubt the you could even let out a squeak between the three intimidating men.

To your demise, when the men enter the room - Anders is nowhere to be found. The two brothers and the third stranger who had caught you stand in the doorway looking all too.... nerve-racking (for you). Instantly you know that theyknow how nervous you are. Nervous of losing the only source of income that was enough to sustain you. The older of the two brothers is looking at you up and down, slowly and calculating. Like it's the first time he's seeing you. Someone like you at least. Some who wasn't at the same calibre as he. Even his gaze makes you feel poor. Inferior.

Thought it doesn't seem to be intentional. He was inspecting you like you were an enigma when in reality he was the one clad in all sorts of bling you were sure you would only see in the movies. Being so focused and aware of Seokjin, you'd almost forgotten about the two other men in the room. While the stranger leant against the wall like he had earlier, Jimin had taken a seat on the large sofa a few meters away from you. Crossing his, muscular you might add, thighs. Getting comfortable with one of his arms splayed on the back of the cushions while the other rested on the hand rest - completely at ease. The exact opposite of you. While Seokjin was all curious eyes, Jimin seemed to be looking at you with sly eyes, blatantly checking out your frumpy uniform and the duster in your hand. The smirk you'd seen in the morning still ever present on his face.

Never having been in a room with an attractive man such as Seokjin himself - let alone three - you're about ready to faint.

"Are you boys going to start or shall I?" The stranger spoke first. Voice breezy like they were about to have a conversation about the weather with you.

your eyes must still be opened wide when Jimin speaks up. "Relax Hoseok hyung, let the girl breathe first. You okay sweetheart?"

His saccharine sweet tone instantly soothes some of the nerves and the smile he sends your way, the wrinkles appearing around his round eyes making you feel all warm inside.

"U-Uh, wh-what? Oh I-I'm-" The elder cuts you off however. Seemingly not being able for you to finish up your stuttering. Hm, he definitely wasn't as nice as the other two.

"Anyway, what were you doing outside master Jimin's wing, little one?" The nickname makes your face redder than it was, feeling your blood rush in your head suddenly. Never did you think that the sons of your employer would actually refer to themselves as 'master'. You definitely guessed wrong. At least Jimin hadn't. You reallydid like him better even if he was about to fire you.

And guess what you do next? Sabotage yourself even further of course. Your mouth has no filter when you're nervous because the words come stumbling out before you can stop yourself.

"I heard your plan to get money from your dad!" The words almost sound like a really long, poorly pronounced word. A breath leaves you in a rush like you' been holding it in for a while after your word vomit. "Or w-well I guess.... m-more money."

The last words are whispered almost to yourself but the way the men are now widening their eyes at you - you know they heard every word.

"Excuse me?" The handsome stranger - Hoseok, now you know - fills the defining silence with the most endearing laughter you've heard in your small life-time just as Seokjin's incredulous tone has you shrinking back in to yourself.

"And what do you suppose... you will do with that information, hm?" Jimin slowly gets up from his place on the couch, straitening his dress pants. The Cheshire smirk still upturning the corners of his mouth as he stalks towards you. Slow, with purpose, to undoubtedly make you more nervous than you were feeling surrounded by him and his older brother standing adjacent to you.

"I-I... I won't say a-anything." You're taking a deep breath before you say the next words - gathering all the courage that you were able to. About to do something you never dreamed you would have to. "If you don't f-fire me."

Even though you are outright blackmailing these chaebol brothers and with a witness present, you can't help the frown creasing your forehead at your unethical actions. Who were you blackmailing people that can probably have your existence removed from this earth?! They certainly had enough money for it.

"And if we do fire you, little one?" The screech that leaves your throat at the unexpected closeness of Seokjin as he leans his head down. Close enough that you instinctively take a step back as his deep coal orbs bore in to yours - challenging you to respond.

"I-I-I um," you gulp, looking anywhere but his intense eyes that won't let you breathe. "I'll tell y-your father!"

Your reply is defiant but nowhere near as threatening as you'd wanted it to be. In all honesty, you just want to keep your job. Seokjin's eyebrows shoot upwards at your feigned bravery and the bold claim. How would you even get in touch with his father?

You'd only ever seen him from a distance in person. Here's to hoping they don't call you on your bluff.

"Oh will you now?" His head tilts almost menacingly, still staring right down at you. The arms that come around to wrap themselves around you are purely in instinct. You were out of your depth here and desperately hoping they'd forget about this and ignore you. You were a mere house staff and a very lowly one at that.

Surely they won't fall to your words. This was stupid and you were doomed. You're about ready to apologies when Jimin speaks making your head snap towards him.

"Calm down, brother." His smile is then directed at you. "What's your name darling?"

"Y-Y/n." Your brain was on auto-pilot and you just wanted to be out of trouble.

"Well, y/n, don't worry." Jimin is close enough that you can smell his cologne. It smells heavenly and you almost want to sniff as much as you can to take in the smell while it's there. "Our mouths are barred," head leaning down just as Seokjin had been earlier, "as long as yours is."

Jimin was smooth. Slick and smooth with his hypnotic eyes, euphonious voice and tranquil words making sure you were listening. Comprehending every word. You're nodding along with him - actions a little quivery. Until another thought pops up in your head.

"W-What if h-he dobs me in?" Your head gestures towards Hoseok's animatedly in your nervous state. Completely missing the chuckle that sounds from the accused.

Jimin is biting his bottom lip, holding himself back from flat out laughing in your face probably.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart. We're all bounded in this contract. Deal?" He's nodding at you, prompting you to nod your understanding as well.

Seokjin is still scrutinising you, stepping back now that Jimin had taken over. You glance in Jimin's eyes before nodding once again - much more firmly.

"Excellent. Shall we seal this deal?" He looks around to Hoseok who just gestures with his hand 'as you wish' with a grin similar to Jimin's. It's like they're all communicating in some symbolic language that goes above your head. Seokjin doesn't respond but now stand besides Jimin.

When Jimin is looking back at you, a singular eyebrow raised - you nod as well. "O-Okay."

Hastily, you're wiping your clammy hands on your uniform to bring it forward and shake his hand. That's what he meant right?

The golden haired boy only smirks at your outstretched hand as his gaze falls back to your reluctant face. Your nerves are settling slightly when his arm is making its way to you as well - thanking god above that this was going to be over soon.

Until the said hands bypasses yours waiting to shake his and settles on the wall beside your head and your own eyes watch its descent. Before you can ask any questions or even make sense of what's happening, your head is tilted backwards slightly when a pair of voluptuous lips take their residence on your own. The noise of surprise leaving the back of your throat is the only other heard in the otherwise quiet room. Your hand instinctively going to grab at the arms caging you between them.

Jimin's kiss is all consuming, his lips gently sucking yours in the most unwavering embrace. Embrace is a bit of a stretch. While one hand had squashed any hopes of your escape, the other made it impossible as it held on to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb as his tongue swiped over your lips. A whimper leaves your mouth when he does so and only a few seconds later, Jimin is pulling away with a wet 'pop' of his lips. His petal soft ones are moist and gently coloured with a natural deep pink.

You're barely breathing, eyes half closed when Hoseok has stepped besides the smirking Jimin.

"What a-"

"We're sealing it with a kiss, Darling. All of us." You felt like you were going to faint. Kissing one of them was this taxing - in the best way with the way the butterflies were going haywire in your tummy - how were you going to kiss all threeof them?

"I- Okay." You sound defeated and overwhelmed but ready to have someone fill the void that was left when Jimin stopped kissing you.

Hoseok has taken Jimin's place, swiftly pushing his head closer to yours, nuzzling your nose with his - an oddly intimate act - before his soft lips push against yours. Your arms have found their way to the top of his chest purely on instinct once more. Needing to hold on to something so your weak knees don't give out beneath you.

His kiss is more delicate than Jimin's. Much softer. Until he pulls back for the first time of course. Only to crash his mouth on to yours with a ferocity you were not expecting. Your hands are itching to tug on the silky strands of his hair but you resist. You're not sure if you should even kiss him back. What were you doing? Kissing strangers. It was a little too late to think about that anyway because there was no plausible reason you could think of at the moment to stopkissing him back.

"That's enough hyung. Let her breathe." Jimin's impish chuckle sounds from the room somewhere just as Hoseok's touch gets dangerously close to the curvature of your breasts.

He breaks away with a dramatic 'chu' as his lips part from yours. Sparkling from how shiny they were from your combined saliva. Jimin was right. You really needed to breathe before you fainted - especially with the way your knees wobbled, trying your best to rest against the wall behind you. Hoseok's eyes are still staring raptly at you, the knowing smirk still ever present. It briefly slips down to your heaving chest and even though the uniform was virtually shapeless - you felt almost naked under his scrutiny.

Evidently, your cheeks are reddening even further as he steps back, your heart skipping several beats and blood pressure spiking shortly after when you realise who was next - Kim Seokjin. Somehow, you'd expected the state of subtle arousal to dissipate to a certain degree. The substantial dislike you'd acquired for his tone whenever addressing you had been pushed to the side as he took his place in front of you. Your eyes lock, heart stopingly striking features making you breathless once again.

He, undoubtedly, intimidated you the most out of all of them. Eyes flicking back and forth between the other men and Seokjin, you're trying not to get nervous with each second that passes. Hoseok had not waited long enough to let the panic rise from deep down and you were thankful for that. Because nervous you was not appropriate. Not at all. But then again nothing about kissing your boss's sons and their friends was appropriate. You were way past that point. He places his hand besides your head, just as the other two had done. Bracing your hands behind you on the wall, you're ready for him to steal your breath away.

What you weren't expecting was the gentle press of lips against your cheek. A surprised gasp leaves past your - very lonely - lips. Trying to hide the disappointment that's trying to claw its way on to your face, you stay very still like moving even just an inch might be catastrophic for you. Just as soon as he kissed you, he's pulling away. You hadn't noticed his other hand that had been just shy of holding your waist - hovering besides it like he was uncertain. Which was a crazy thought to you.

"Nowit's a deal." Jimin speaks up from behind Seokjin. Seokjin's broad shoulders had almost completely blocked your view of the other two men in the room that you had momentarily forgotten about them.

Seokjin moves away just as fast as his little peck on your cheek. Which makes you wonder if you were that indigent to him, this unappealing, that he'd resorted to a little peck on your cheek. This was ridiculous on its own because your perception of reality was so skewed considering the events that had transpired in the past hour. A few hours ago you were getting ready to do your weekly thorough cleaning of the vast left wing - now you were internally pouting at not receiving a kiss from one of the three most handsome men you'd ever laid your eyes on. Not to forget - two out of three were your employers.

The realisation is enough to jolt you out of your thoughts and speculations, looking around at all of them. "I should go."

Your words are shaky, rightfully so with how much physical intimacy you received in the last hour than the last month. Neither of the three men stop surveying your tremulous tip-toeing towards the door, trying to get out of the stifling room that was feeling too small with all the bodies occupying it.

They don't stop you when you're fumbling with the golden doorknob, finally pulling open the door. Though why would this day get any easier for you, right? And what had you done in your previous life to deserve this.... predicament. Standing in front of you, was another man. That's right. Another one. Beautiful, incredibly so. He seems to be just as tall as Jimin, ivory skin with a healthy amount of flush.

"Well, hello... maid." His deep - puzzled voice sends shivers down your spine as you stare Bambi eyed at him. Why were all these men so, comically handsome? He looks just as puzzled as he sounds.

"Ah! Perfect timing Yoongi hyung." The loud, boisterous voice startles you once again, whipping around to face Hoseok while Jimin walks towards the newcomer.

"Is the another one of your role-play threesomes Jimin? Poor thing looks like she's going to cry. Unless you're a professional actress?"

The last question is directed at you as he looks into your eyes, his own lovely face frowning as he inspects your uniform. Before you can answer though, Seokjin is scoffing, taking a seat on the couch once again with the drink in his hand that he'd been pouring earlier.

"Please, I wouldn't be here if that were true. Come, have a seat. She won't cry." He waves his dismissal of you and once again - your face is heating. This time in irritation.

Yoongi just shrugs, eyes still watching you as he sits beside a lounging Seokjin who offers him a drink. "So, what's the little maid doing here?"

Jimin is smirking again as he looks towards his older brother. "Let me explain." he offers.

"Make my friend a drink, little one."

"Pardon?" Seokjin sighs, as if being greatly inconvenienced that he has to elaborate.

"Just because you got a few kisses from us doesn't relieve you of your duties, yes?" His narrowed eyes are condescending but you can't say anything. Because he was right. You were still a maid at their house despite the little stunt they pulled earlier (you were complicit).

"Y-Yes. Of course." Eyes downcast as you make your way to the liquor cabinet, taking out the bottle that Seokjin had previously to pour himself one.

"Wait, you guys kissed your maid?" Yoongi's unbelievable laugh makes the blood rush back in to your cheeks. They were discussing you like you weren't there and it was embarrassing to say the least. Though they definitely out-ranked you on the power spectrum so you doubt they really cared much about your input.

"It was a transaction, nothing much of it."

"Talk about yourself, mine was definitely more than that." Jimin is scoffing but you still hear the smirk in his voice. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

You know he's talking to you even if he doesn't know your name yet but you resist the urge to turn around, already too embarrassed at how easily you'd given in to their advances. Wiping your hands down on your uniform again to get rid of the sweat that's been accumulating, you carefully hold the heavy liquor glass. Hoping that it doesn't slip from your clammy hands otherwise you were in a lot more trouble than before.

Hands slightly shaking, you stop right before you reach the couch, bending forward to hand the newest face his glass of whiskey. You hadn't noticed before but all 4 of them had been watching you. Carefully examining your composure and the nervousness pouring off of your frame as you tried to keep your eyes on the glass. You make the mistake of glancing up at Yoongi and almost drop the glass like you'd been trying to avoid. Thankfully, he mercifully takes it from you - eyes still watching as he takes a sip.

"Sorry! Sorry..."

"That's okay little one. What's your name?"

"Wait yeah. we never asked her name." Hoseok muses from the opposite couch he's sitting on and Yoongi scoffs at them all again. But they did? Did they really forget my name already?

"Really now?" He's shaking his head mumbling 'egocentric fools' before his eyes turn back to you. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath. Wondering if you should give your real name or a fake one this time in case they try to have you fired when you're gone. You decide to be brave and tell them your name. Again.

"Y/n." No stuttering, thank god.

"How long have you been working here y/n? I would remember a pretty face like yours." Yoongi's tone is light, not flirty like his words suggested. He seemed like a person who just talked this way - complimenting people he deemed worthy of them.

"Three- Three and a half months now." Your voice gets quieter the longer your sentence goes on. The blush on your face is now permanent because of how intently all of them seem to be looking at you. you also need to fight the urge to shuffle your feet around like you were on trial for something bad you did and they were the judge and the jury. In a sense you guess that they were because you wouldn't be here otherwise.

"Hm. Somehow I'm seeing you for the first time today." You bite you tongue, wincing lightly at your own strength but you had to. Otherwise you would go on a tangent about how he really rarely looked at the staff in his own home. Seokjin just annoyed you! Biting on your lip - a nervous habit - you contemplate whether you should ask if you can go.

You were soclose before.

"Please, hyung. You would've if you stopped admiring yourself every chance you got." Jimin mocks his older brother.

"Not my fault I look like this." Seokjin is gesturing to himself like it's a great burden being that good looking. Then again you don't know. It could be.

"Settle down children." Yoongi rolls his eyes at the two brother bickering, checking his gold toned Rolex before speaking again, "so, what's this scheme I’ve been summoned for? Spit it out."

"That'll be all y/n." Jimin's charming smile is directed at you all of a sudden when Yoongi mentions the dreaded plan that you'd overheard. Nonetheless, the way your name slips off his tongue sends a small shiver down your spine, nodding at him before staggering towards the door.

"Don't forget our deal, little one." You can hear Hoseok snickering when Jimin calls out behind your retrieving figure.

Knees almost knocking into each other when you're outside the room, you let out the biggest breath that you were once again, unwarily holding. What had you gotten yourself in to?

Everything was coming crashing down onto your psyche. The gravity of the situation was settling on you and you could feel the hyperventilation lurking nearby. These were not just normal everyday people who happen to have more money than you. The Kim family was affluent and prominent. They didn't follow the normal dynamics of society like all the other wealthy and rich in this country. They made the rules that they wantedto follow. Remembering the incident from when you'd just started working here, you could feel your heart drop down to your toes.

It was your second week on the job and your timorous nature was taking a back seat slowly - getting a hang of your duties. Anders was kind and let you settle in and perhaps because you were just as old as his granddaughter he'd told you about. Minhyuk - another staff member that you'd seen around the Manor and quite honestly developed a small crush on - had been showing you the east wing and what your duties included. You didn't have much to do there as it was Mr Kim's quarters, including his study and office where he worked once in a while. Not everyone had access to that area of the house and you figured it was because of his work. maybe he was really particular about the way things were done. You just didn't think much of it.

"You will always be given your schedule of the type and duration of cleaning required the day before when it comes to Master Kim's rooms so please take note of that."

He smiles sweetly as he shows you around. The notepad in your hand, you're diligently taking notes because you did not want to risk leaving all of this new information to your forgetful nature. You swear you hear him mumble 'cute' when he's watching you but the sound of heels clicking on the marble floors distract you both. When you look up - your jaw is almost dropping to the floor. You's seen Mr Kim's partner a fair few times - on the news that is. In person she was even more... unreal. Tall, thin with equally bright and big bone structure. It didn't phase you when you learnt that she was indeed - a model.

"Good morning Am- Ms King!" Her pearly whites make a small appearance before she curls her lips in an almost sensual smile.

"Good morning Minhyuk. Who is this?" She doesn't spare you a glance when she questions, fingers lingering on his shoulder as she leans in a little close to him.

The blush lettering Minhyuk's cheek tells you that this isn't the first time she's been this close to him. He introduces you as the newest staff addition but she doesn't seem to be listening. What she does though is start to question him about his weekend. Making him almost forget that you're there. What does capture your attention meanwhile is the slight rustle - as if someone had walked away from around the corner. You're only able to catch the colour black and a suit comes to mind automatically.

"Everything alright y/n?" Minhyuk's voice makes you whip your head around back to him and you catch Ms King watching you as well.

"I-I just thought I saw someone." Ms King frowns at that.

"That must be Ryuk. Excuse me." She just smiles - one that doesn't reach her eyes as she steps away. Ryuk?

Sensing your confusion, Minhyuk answers your unanswered question. "That's Mr. Kim. His first name is Ryuk. Weird right?"

You just chuckle along with him - completely missing the underlying panicked tone. He continues the tour but after your run-in with Mr Kim's fiancé, he seems to be on edge.

The next day at work - Minhyuk is nowhere to be seen. Not the next day either. Then never again. A month later - you receive your new duties in the east wing. Minhyuk's designated area.

"Excuse me sir," Anders looks up from the sheets of paper he'd been handing out to the rest of the staff, "Isn't it M-Minhyuk's area? Am I temporarily-"

He doesn't let you finish. "He doesn't work here anymore dear. These will be your permanent duties until further notice."

Your heart clenches at his direct tone. He only spoke like this to you on your first day at work. He doesn't elaborate any further and you get the hint to not further question the change in staff.

You don't see Minhyuk again.

How were you so asinine that you didn't connect the dots before? Minhyuk's panic as he'd shown you to your duties after Mr Kim had possibly seen you three chatting with his Fiancé, him getting replaced - fired? - with you. He was simply removed from the Manor and you'd never heard his name from any of the other staff members either. It's like he never worked there. You were rapidly fading down the doomed rabbit hole. Already thinking of about a hundred ways Mr Kim's sons could have you disposed of. Maybe you were thinking too much? Not possible. With this family, anything was possible.

The tear that falls down your face has you bringing your cold hand up to your hot cheeks. Foolishly, you've forgotten to go much further away from the room you'd exited from. The panic clouding your senses as you fished for your phone from your pocket, hastily dialling your grandmother's house phone.

A few rings later, you hear your mother's annoyed tone. "H-hello Mama."

Her tone turns sickly sweet, dishonest you know but you try to trick your heart and your brain in to believing her concern. "Hi dear! Haven't heard from you in so long. Are you not at work?"

Her tone turns serious and worried instantly at the prospect of you not being at work. You also want to tell her that you called every two days after work but she never wanted to speak to you unless it was payday. But that doesn't hurt you nearly as much as her not even being remotely entered in your wellbeing.

"I am at work. Could you... could you put Nana on the phone please?"

"Um. Okay." That's it. your voice is cracking and you know she can hear you but she doesn't care enough to ask.

"Hello? y/n?"

"Nana." whimpering, you try to not burst out crying. Keeping the intense emotions at bay.

"What's wrong dear? Are you alright?" Hearing her perturbed tone at your distressed one only makes the tears fall quicker, making you slap them away so they don't blur your vision completely.

"Nana... I might be in trouble. I-I might get..." fired. You couldn't say it. Once you let her know you were a hundred percent sure your mother would be incessant in having her spill the bad news. She would make your grandmother's life hell and you couldn't do that to her. Your mother needed the steady money to keep her in rehab. You had hopes that since she was at least going to rehab - that one day she could be a good mother to you.

"What dear? You can tell me y/n." Pushing your hand over your mouth, you try and swallow the sob before it passes through the phone. Though you could already hear your mother asking your Nana what was going on.

"Be quiet Elizabeth! I'll tell you."

"I-I'm okay. I just miss you." You could do this. your grandmother didn't deserve this. No one deserved this just because you made a foolish mistake and you hope she doesn't question you further.

"We miss you too dear. So much. Will you be able to visit soon? Let her get back to work Ma." Your mother sounded angry and you wanted to scream at her through the phone that at least your grandmother cared.

"I'll let you know. I have to go now Nana. I love you."

"I love you too darling. So much." She stays on the line for a few more moments. Making sure you didn't want to say anything else.

Dropping your head down in your lap - you let the last few stray tears fall, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You needed to pull it together. Your family was counting on you to keep this job and you were going to fight for it. Even if you were several outnumbered. You had their secret and that should count for something, right? As long as you appeared strong in front of them - maybe they'll leave you alone.

Dusting off your uniform, wiping away at your face and checking it in the nearest grand mirror on the wall - you get to work. You still had a job.

What you domiss though, is the man who had witnessed your panicked tears. He hadn't expected himself to be this affected but the way his heart clenched and his hands curled into fists at your disturbed state - he'd never wanted to comfort someone this badly. Empathy. A foreign emotion indeed.

#bts #bts smut #bts x reader #bts fanfction #jimin x reader #jin x reader #jhope x reader #yoongi x reader #hobiwonder #lmk what you think #:)

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not-another-hockey-blog · 5 years

Text

The battle on the bed: Kasperi Kapanen

Request: omg hi! i was wondering if you could do a blurb about kasperi kapanen with #13 or #62 (or maybe a little of both😍) from the writing prompts post??

Prompt(s): “You can’t kick me out! This is my bed” & “TOUCH ME WITH YOUR COLD FEET ONE MORE TIME!!!”

A/N: Hello! Thank you for requesting! These two prompts go together so perfectly lmaooo also have I mentioned that I’m a leafs fan bc I just love them all my precious babes

Warnings: None?

You loved the home games, because home games meant more time spent with Kappy and because it was the playoffs he was a lot cuddlier than usual. So there you laid, wrapped up in each other, Kasperi wanting nothing more than to fall asleep after coming home sore and exhausted from another round against the Bruins.

You shifted under the blankets, Kappy groaning as your arms tightened a tad too much a certain spot on his back that was aching to all hell. “Be gentle,babe.”

“I don’t suppose a massage would help?” you inquired and felt his head lift from the pillow.

“I wouldn’t exactly say no to one.” and you could almost see his grin in the dark before you unraveled from each other, you rolling over to turn on the bedside lamp and almost off the edge of his bed. When you turned back over he was already on his stomach, shirt discarded and blanket pooling beneath his well toned butt.

You took this moment to admire him, the ridges and dips of his back muscles, his tattoos and beauty marks. You gently threw one leg over him so you were resting on the back of this thighs, your hands immediately going to his butt to give it a playful smack.

“Hey, hands off the goods, you animal.” he chuckled and you got to work, being gentle at first but gradually getting more intense as you tried to get as deep into his sore muscles as you could. Kappy hadn’t made a sound in a while, and to be honest your hands were pretty tired so you went for the next best thing, your feet.

The second they made contact with his warm skin he tensed and rolled, knocking you off balance and sending you tumbling off to the side and onto the mattress in a fit of giggles. “Jesus Christ, do you have blocks of ice for feet?!” he looked at you startled, a telltale sign that he was dozing off before the assault.

“My hands got sore, I thought you wouldn’t mind.” you said as you taunted him with your feet. You loved that he allowed you to be playful and goofy with him even when he was stressed out. You placed the toes of your right foot against his side and watched him jerk back, swatting your feet before he grabbed you around the waist and brought you directly to his chest, a smile on his face as he began leaving playful kisses all over.

But the second he began to tickle you, all hell broke loose. You writhed to get away from him, your stomach and sides hurting from laughing so much. “Kappy I swear to god I will kick you out of this bed!” you threatened through the laughs as you contorted your body to try and get away.

“You can’t kick me out! This is my bed!” finally his tickle attack stopped and he held your back to his chest, his arms around your torso. “I love you.” he whispered in your ear, placing a kiss directly below it.

“I love you, too.” you told him as your body relaxed, finally ready to rest for the night. “Let me turn off the light quick.” you said and he was almost reluctantly to ,let you out of his grasp but he knew the light would only keep you both up longer if it remained on.

You scooted over, flicking it off and rolling back towards him, your feet now touching his lower abdomen and he flinched away.

“TOUCH ME WITH YOUR COLD FEET ONE MORE TIME!” Needless to say you fell asleep giggling with Kappy, your forever forgiving boyfriend, keeping your legs tightly tucked between his.

#kasperi kapanen #kasperi kapanen imagine #nhl #nhl imagines #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey imagines

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piipedreams · 5 years

Note

47 + Sharon plus anyone! Your choice!

(it’s shillam again bc i’m weak n i love them. pls send all ur love to @artificialmeggie for checking through this for me too pls. also i’m on mobile bc i’m on holiday so sorry if this is horribly formatted)

for the prompt: “no one needs to know”

“FUCK!” Sharon exclaims, lashing blindly at her altar before storming to the other side of the room, her enraged stomps drowning out the sound of things tumbling over. She thinks about giving up entirely and throwing herself into the hammock Aquaria had insisted on erecting only to never use, but the combination of her current lack of luck and her lack of faith in her daughter’s carpentry skills convince her otherwise. Thus, she resigns herself to lying face-down on the wooden floor, booting the ground with the toe of her scuffed Dr Martens just for good measure.

“And you wonder where I get my dramatic streak from…” drawls an all-too-familiar and all-too-frustrating voice. Sharon’s daughter Aquaria is perched like a princess upon Sharon’s king-size bed, lounging back against a plethora of throw pillows and lazily waving a hand in the air supposedly to dry her nails. Sharon loves the little nightmare, she really does, but she’s not in the mood, knows that she’ll snap if she opens her mouth to respond and doesn’t want to put that on her. Luckily, Aquaria knows her all too well, not even giving her a chance to retaliate.

“Oh, and be careful with the altar. If you kick a candle over and set the place on fire I’m not taking the blame like I did when you burnt dinner last year. We’re both too old for that now, it’d be embarrassing.”

Aquaria is ten.

Sharon still doesn’t dignify her words with a coherent response, letting out a long, low groan just to remind her daughter of her current suffering and torment. She hears the sound almost immediately echoed from the bed, is unsure whether she’s being mocked or watching her daughter become herself and is unable to discern which option she’d hate more.

Lifting her head, she watches Aquaria flounce off the bed and flick her long, blonde hair over her shoulder with purpose, tiny heels clacking as she makes her way across the room, pausing to reassemble Sharon’s altar with what Sharon just knows is a hidden eye-roll. The little brat.

“Fine,” she announces in a sharp, impatient tone, as though Sharon had just made a decision or request she wasn’t aware of. As well as her flair for the dramatics, it seemed the kid had also inherited Sharon’s general distaste and impatience regarding other people. She was so proud. “If you’re not gonna talk to me, I’ll go and fetch somebody else for you to rant to.” And with those words she struts out of the room, her little wedge heels clicking against the wooden floors and her hair bouncing behind her, completely ignorant as Sharon calls out half-arsed protestations in an attempt to change her mind, get her to stay instead.

“Well don’t you look fucking pathetic?”

“No. Not you.” The smugness of the voice she hears, clearly revelling in the sight of Sharon, collapsed and defeated at her feet, kills any trust she had in her daughter. Because she could not have made a worse call than fucking Willam if she was really trying to provide her with any modicum of emotional support. When people told her having a kid would be the catalyst of her long impending breakdown, she’d never imagined this would be how. The little traitor.

The sound of stilettos, almost definitely red bottoms, grows louder and a pang of dread blossoms in her heart as she hears the woman approach, flippant and sarcastic in all the worst ways as she exclaims “Wow, okay. I thought we were friends!”

Sharon doesn’t have fucking time for her and her dumb games. “You thought wrong.”

Apparently Willam doesn’t have time for her either though, because her snickering suddenly stops, toes digging under Sharon’s side and then lifting as though trying to push her up, obviously to no avail.

“Get up.”

Sharon tries to ignore the way such a demand makes her jaw clench and muscles tighten somewhat.

“No,” she groans in response, long and whiny, determined to be as difficult for Willam as possible, to wield all her brattish and stubborn parts like a weapon and prolong the experience as much as she possibly can. It’s probably petty, definitely antagonistic, but she’s still frustrated and maybe Aquaria is smarter than she’d thought because she’d provided her mother with the greatest outlet - someone to wind up.

She relishes in the aggravated sigh she gets in return. “Get off the fucking floor and into that fucking hammock.”

The bite of the demand, the scratchy growl underlying in Willam’s voice as she speaks so plainly and apathetically, as though Sharon is nothing more than a mild inconvenience that won’t behave does something to Sharon. It’s the indifference of her voice, the way it essentially yells that she knows exactly what to do with Sharon, how to deal with her and why and that she has no doubt she’ll execute this control flawlessly causes a stir inside the woman, her teeth grinding ever so slightly and an involuntary shiver wracking her which seems to be the final straw.

Willam stamps her glitter Louboutins against the ground with enough force to snap the flimsy kitten heels in half, centimetres from Sharon’s head, her ankle brushing the outermost wisps of her hair in the movement and Sharon tries to ignore her body once again, biting back a whimper she knows would be pathetically high and embarrassingly needy as heat pools in her stomach. She mutters a resolute “fuck!” all hard vowels and spiked fricatives, finding comfort in the knowledge that Willam is just enough of a dumb blonde not to understand the true target of her exclamation.

Body protesting, she hauls herself to her feet and plods obediently over to the mesh hammock that hangs low in the corner of the room. Despite her best efforts, she has to admit that perhaps Willam did have a somewhat decent idea, collapsing into the fabric after feeling the pull of temptation deep in her stomach and letting out a small, audible groan at the way her body is so graciously welcomed. Her muscles relax, the brain fog and electric anger causing her current storm-like state beginning to ebb away as she closes her eyes, lies back and just breathes, deep, heavy, slow, and full, like she has all the time and all the oxygen in the world to enjoy. For just a moment, she forgets her not-quite-friend is even there, losing herself in the onslaught of sensations and sinking into her own, private, relaxed little haven of a world. Hell, for a moment she almost considers thanking Willam, a notion that leaves her head almost as immediately as it crosses it, the thought broken apart entirely by the interruption of none other than the woman of the hour herself.

“Cute.” In spite of their differences, Sharon has always found great pride in being the only one smart enough to be able to decipher Willam’s different tones and meanings, always picking up on a fake comment, sarcasm and every tiny emotion bitten back behind polite, uncharacteristic words. But when she says that one, tiny little word, Sharon is lost completely, unable to recognise whether it’s her own intrusive and self-absorbed thoughts causing her to detect a chink in Willam’s armour of sarcasm, some modicum of genuine emotion and belief behind the comment. Once again, however, she reminds herself that this is not the time nor place and pushes every thought stemming from it to be suffocated in a dark, faraway corner in her mind. She traps every branch within the area and blocks it up, pressing a label onto the jar of thoughts declaring it for a rainy day. She starts to miss her pre-Willam irritation as the woman clears her throat and continues. “...Anyway. Budge over.”

Still on autopilot, her body made of clay that moulds itself to Willam’s words, she finds herself obliging before she’s even really processed the words or what they imply, body shuffling closer to the window. With just a half-second of hesitation, Willam gracelessly kicks off her heels and plops herself right next to Sharon, a little off-centre so the hammock swings slightly as her shoulder collides with Sharon’s chest, grappling helplessly for an anchor to the rocking fabric and finding it, unfortunately, in Sharon’s t-shirt, her fingers clinging so tightly to the neckline that the tips dig into the soft flesh of her tits. A small part of Sharon - a wayward thought that had just about escaped the rainy day trap - secretly hopes that Willam has pressed hard enough to leave little marks in her skin, a visual reminder of her touch, the collision of her body with Sharon’s.

As the choppy movements of the hammock slow and eventually still, Willam begins to maneuver herself into a more comfortable position, rolling onto her front and overlapping the leg closest to her with her own. Her grip on Sharon’s top remains tight, her body seemingly trying to accommodate that one point of contact in the most convenient and comfortable way, resting her head atop and then above Sharon’s shoulder when the former doesn’t work out, face tilted towards her so that her breath bats softly against Sharon’s cheek and the slight bulge of her small chest pressed against Sharon’s left arm, rendering it dead and absolutely useless. Not that Sharon minds. Not that Sharon’s not going to pretend she does mind.

“Uh…. Will?” she asks cautiously, humiliated by the way her voice cracks ever so slightly, how overall delicate and gentle it sounds. Willam bumps against her in acknowledgement. Every part of her body that has the luxury of feeling Willam’s burns, the originally warm feeling growing more scalding and deadly the more she thinks about and accepts it. So she tries to amp it up a bit, this time almost obnoxiously loud and abrupt as she asks, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Cuddling you.” She halts for a moment as though that’s it, a horrendously obvious and yet cryptic answer, smirking at Sharon’s disapproving frown. Apparently, the expression was yet another step too far, and the stirring in her stomach starts up once again, this time the heat a result of a chemical reaction as lust and fear mingle together in the most addictive of ways as Willam’s face hardens, eyes stony and cold, her whole demeanour, despite being wrapped around Sharon, clearly indicating her aggravation. When she speaks, it’s snappy and abrupt again, the Willam that Sharon knows and therefore knows how to deal with - a no-nonsense bitch with a heart layered with stone and gold that knows exactly what she’s doing and why, and that it’s not really any of your business, thank you very much.

“Fine!” she snaps, eyes rolling so hard it’s a wonder she doesn’t do herself permanent damage. “I tried to be nice about it!” Sharon isn’t sure whether to believe that, the push and pull between them being so off and inconsistent all day that she’s actually never felt more on edge around Willam yet somehow never felt more comfortable around her either. She’s not so sure how nice that really is. “Like it or not, you’re a repressed little dyke who’s throwing her toys out her pram like a fucking toddler because she needs a hug and she’s touch starved by other woman. I’m trying to deliver.”

This time, the heat that had been pooling in her stomach doesn’t burn her or frighten her, instead spreading through her body as an almighty warmth, accomplices to the warm arms that wrap around her as Willam finishes speaking. It’s horrifyingly difficult not to react, as always with Willam, for an entirely different reason. Because Sharon has always prided herself on understanding Willam and the emotions and messages underlying in her words, and this one is clear as day - Willam cares. She notices, knows Sharon even if neither of them like the thought of that, and cares enough to want to help even when she knows she’s going to get nothing good out of it️. Sharon had wondered why of all people Aquaria had approached Willam, but the painstaking tenderness of her words and her touch leaves her wondering whether Aquaria even asked her at all, a thought far too exhilarating for her to continue thinking. Nevertheless, she makes a mental note to thank her daughter when she eventually returns, considering that maybe the new sewing machine she’d been begging for isn’t too expensive after all. Her head spins as she bites back a grin, trying to return to her permanently antagonistic state and diffuse the tension between them so thick, palpable and tangible it feels like a weapon.

“This is still too weird.” Her tone is so unconvincing, so wobbly and quiet and indirect she doesn’t even believe herself. Willam snickers.

“Well suck it up, bitch, I’m not here to ruin your image! No one needs to know Emo Goddess 666 needs a good hug sometimes.” She shuffles closer, every bitchy and humorous facade long gone from her expression. The thought of such vulnerability and trust between them threatens to swallow Sharon whole. Willam winks, nosing at Sharon’s chin as the arm clutching Sharon’s shirt finally releases the garment and rests lazily over the woman’s waist, a warm, protective anchor against all the shit she’s thought all day, week, year. “Or that she gets them.”

This time Sharon hums, too content and heavy-lidded to try and muster up a response. In another universe, she corrects Willam, reminds her that she’s goth, not emo, biting her lip and squeezing her thighs together as Willam tells her to shut the fuck up before she makes her. In this universe, however, Willam accepts the hum as a sign of Sharon’s begrudging complacency and trust, the sparks of hope that signify a new beginning almost visible were it not for how deeply she’d buried her face into the crook of Sharon’s neck at this point, the two of them entangled as though they belong this way. And maybe they do, so Willam pushes her luck, it seems.

“Hey, how about a kiss too?”

#i looove these two #also mom!sharon and daughter!aquaria #shillam #sharon needles #willam belli #prompt #asks #anonymous #answered #my writing #aquaria

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firebirdsdaughter · 5 years

Text

Random Writing Demo…

… Okay.

First off, I would like to blame my three main enablers:

Me.

Myself.

And I.

Also this is Banba’s fault and I hope he’s proud of himself.

I guess you could say this is a little like a game demo—bc it’s rough around the edges, and I cannot guarantee that this is exactly how it will appear in the finished product.

Long Post.

Okay. So. You wanna know how this started? *breaks out Mike’s Hard Lemonade bc it’s pretty much the only alcohol I can drink and dramatically opens bottle while equally melodramatic western music plays in the background as I lean forward on my stool, putting one foot up on the table and then slamming by bottle down* I’ll tell ya how this started.

It started with one, single question:

What if there were evil clones of the Masters?

Quick summary of how we got to this point (in dramatic summary fashion!): (Obviously, this takes place later in the series, once we’re all rather attached. And is less on the killing people XD) After the Druidon manage to steal Kou, Asuna, and Melto’s RyuSouls, the team sets out to retrieve them. They succeed, but encounter what appears to be Masters Red, Pink, and Blue alive! The Druidon claim that they used the Souls to revive them, but something is wrong—the Master’s personalities have been horribly twisted, and they’re siding with the Druidon! Worse, they have now one, single mission: to kill their former students! The three are incredibly distraught, and can’t bring themselves to properly fight their own Masters, and the team only just manages to survive the first encounter and retreat back to the Tatsui house. There, Banba and Touwa decide to try and spare the the trio from having to fight their beloved Masters again, and depart to fight the copies alone. However, it seems the false Masters also have the ability to hypnotise others! While the Ryusoulgers were regrouping have been amassing an army of mind controlled civilians as shields! The fight goes badly, and the brothers are soon overwhelmed…

Banba crashed roughly into the ground, landing hard on his wounded shoulder. He tasted blood from a split lip as he struggled to rise, and his vision was blurring slightly. He didn’t get much time to get his bearings, because hands appeared, dragging him back up by his arms, twisting his shoulder and the sizeable cut on his chest even more. He was forced up to his knees, restrained by the hold of multiple people—they were all clearly civilians, all had the same blank gaze. Normally, he’d’ve been able to get free from any one of them, even wounded—but there were so many that their hold seemed practically unbreakable. When he heard his brother cry out somewhere off in the haze, however, he still tried, gritting his teeth against the pain when the strain aggravated his injuries even more.

He was about to call Touwa’s name when he was abruptly interrupted by a sword blade at his throat—specifically, his own RyusoulKen.

Turning his head just bit, he glared at the person holding it. He may not have known the face, but he’d been well informed that the cold, heartless look did not belong there.

“You two were quite reckless.” The tone was just as frozen as the expression—bemused, bored, and dangerous. “All this for those three?”

For the first time in a while, it took effort to keep his emotions under control, between worry for his brother and direness of their situation—but he focused on the pain from his injuries and the harsh sting of the sword point with every breath he took to keep his head clear. “You wouldn’t understand,” He managed to snarl, and almost succeeded in keeping his voice completely even.

The fake smirked cruelly, turning the sword slightly under Banba’s chin to force his head up further, so that they were looking right into each other’s faces. “Oh? I’d think we know them much better than you.”

“You don’t know them.” Black growled back. “Especially not anymore.”

“You think quite highly of them,” The clone replied, “Risking your lives like this.” His eyes narrowed in thought, the ruthless grin growing wider. “And what do we do with you now…? Slit your throats and leave them your dead bodies as a present?” The sword edge pushed harder against Banba’s throat, pricking slightly and making even more difficult to breathe calmly, as the copy considered his choices.

“I don’t care what you do to me.” Black hissed, straining forward again, despite the sword. “But leave. Those four. Alone.” Each word made the blade sting against his skin, and he felt a trickle of warmth when it drew blood, but he still spat them back at the copy’s face with as much force as he could.

The fake Master Red studied his glare silently for a moment, staring right back into his eyes. “… I didn’t think you were such a noble fool.”

“I protect what’s important to me.”

The imposter’s head tilted slightly, looking his captive over more thoroughly—until his eyes finally lighted on Black’s necklace. “Important, hm…?” He mused softly.

Slowly, the sword lowered away from Banba’s throat for a moment, the point tracing down the line of his neck to his collarbone. Turning it to slip the tip through the necklace cord, the clone gingerly lifted the pendant clear of Banba’s shirt collar, balanced on the flat side of the blade. For a very long moment, he held it there, tilting the sword just slightly for better light. There was blood smeared on the front and back from the stab wound in the Black’s shoulder and the gash on his chest—bright red which was still wet, smudging slightly onto the blade. Banba tried to jerk away, but the the hands holding him down were also on his shoulders now, and found himself unable to move at all.

“Well then…” The copy whispered—then he swiftly crouched down, catching the pendant in his hand and laying the blade edge back against Banba’s throat in the same motion. He turned the pendant over in its fingertips thoughtfully for a moment—then hooked two fingers around the cord, gripping tightly. “… If they won’t come for us…” Turning the sword so that the flat side was against Black’s throat, he yanked, hard. A slice of burning pain cut across the back and sides of Banba’s neck when the latch of the necklace snapped and both it and the cord cut into his skin as it was wrenched off. The motion his head forward against the blade so roughly he couldn’t breathe for a moment, and was forced to gasp for breath when he fell back again. The fake rose, though he readjusted the RyusoulKen to ensure it stayed against Banba’s throat—not as closely as before, but near enough that Black’s slightly panicked pulse was pounding against the metal. His other hand held the necklace up by the cord, dangling the pendant to inspect it even closer. Finally, his gaze returned to his prisoner, eyes gleaming with a vicious brand of delight at the horror he could see slowly creeping into the Ryusoulger’s expression. “… Maybe they’ll come for you.”

Banba’s heart skipped, and he struggled against the hands holding him again. “You…!”

In response, the fake spun the blade around and struck him across the face with the hilt of his own sword, leaving more blood in his mouth and an ugly cut on his cheek. “Behave.” The imposter growled. “We only need one of you alive, and neither of you have to be in one piece.” The sword point slipped immediately back under Banba’s chin, forcibly dragging his head back up to look into the clone’s merciless eyes again without a chance to recover from the hit. “So don’t try anything. Unless you want to watch us feed your little brother to a Minusaur.” There was a commotion nearby, and the clone looked over his shoulder casually. “Same goes for you, boy.” He called, as the fake Master Blue dragged a fiercely resisting Touwa bodily into sight. “Stop squirming before it kills your brother.” The blade point pressed closer, cutting another thin line of red beneath Banba’s jaw.

Touwa froze immediately, gaze flying to his brother, quickly taking in the extent of his injuries, genuine terror brimming in his eyes. Finally, his eyes fell to the ground and he nodded meekly when the copy gave him a questioning look.

“Good boy.” Grunted the fake Blue, reestablishing his hold now that Green had stilled.

The fake Master Pink appeared on Banba’s other side, and took over holding a sword—Touwa’s RyusoulKen—to Black’s throat when the fake Red moved away, striding toward where the Blue clone was holding Touwa. “Well, well…” The clone murmured, taking Green’s arm and pulling it sharply up to examine the bracelet on the boy’s wrist. “… You’ve got one, too…” He smirked again. “It does pay to have a matching set.” Unceremoniously, he pulled Touwa’s arm straight by the wrist, and wrenched the bracelet sharply off as well, causing Touwa to wince slightly as the cord burned his wrist. Stepping back, the clone Red held the bracelet up to look over its pendant, too—there was blood smudged on it, as well, running down Touwa’s arm from a bad gash above his elbow.

Banba took the brief moment of respite to check his younger brother for other injuries. Aside from the nasty cut on his arm, Touwa had several bad scrapes, and another nasty looking graze on his head, matting his hair with more blood, but he still looked alert and was moving normally. None of his injuries were as bad as Banba had feared. Relief allowed his shoulders to relax a bit—his own mind was still hazy and his movements sluggish from pain and blood loss, and it was probably only going to get worse. But if there was a chance to get Touwa safe… Especially if he could manage it before those three, in their incurable kindness, fell into whatever trap the imposters were planning.

But then the fake Red gestured sharply to the false Pink. The RyusoulKen disappeared from his throat for a moment, and there was rustling and a rush of air behind him—something struck him hard on the back of the head, and everything went black.

And that concludes this demo! XD

There might be another later… ^^

But I hope people enjoyed. And that they might actually be interested in seeing the full thing at some point… DX

(Also, I would like to personally apologise to Master Red—it’s a clone, okay?)

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nikolacvna-archive · 5 years

Note

give me all of the quintuplets u coward

❈ ✼ ❈ let’s get down to babies ( accepting!! ) // @splitcrown

how daaaaaaare you

Name: Arkadian Rys

Gender: Male

General Appearance: As the only child not to share an embryonic sac with any sibling, Arkadian has the distinction of being wholly unique. None of the other quints inherited his light hair (dark blonde verging on light brown, a mix of both sides of the family); his father is visible in his eyes alone, the exact same expressive baby blues as Peridan. Otherwise, with his round face and constant animated light to his eyes, it’s hard to see exactly what features Arkadian has borrowed from his parents.

Personality: Many people have described Arkadian as a natural showman; he loves to be in the spotlight, and has a gift of drawing it towards him. As the eldest of the quintuplets, he distinguishes himself as their leader; temperamental, driven, and clever, it’s hard to imagine Arkadian won’t make something of himself one day. His biggest obstacle will probably be himself.

Special Talents: Incredibly accurate aim. He can throw a snowball and hit his father square in the back of the head, even if Peridan’s twenty feet away.

Who they like better: He loves his mother a lot, just because he can always go to her for anything; Tatya adores her eldest son, while Peridan is a little more wary of his impulsiveness and fire. Of all the quints, he’s probably closest to his mom.

Who they take after more: If we’re being honest, his mother. Arkadian has a temper (which, in contrast to Tatya, emerges often), and natural leadership abilities. In contrast to both parents, however, Arkadian is mercurial and intensely charismatic, not needing a sense of stability to thrive. He’s anything but reserved, and fears absolutely nothing.

Personal Head canon: He has an incredible gymnastic ability, gained from tumbling around with his siblings, and can basically do any flip or somersault after a few tries.

Face Claim: Jackson Robert Scott / Sebastian Stan bc hell yeah / SIM

Name: Alexandria “Alyusha” Rys

Gender: Female

General Appearance: She looks very much like her father as a child, with her mother’s stormy grey eyes replacing Peridan’s blue. Her face is long, and sort of narrow; she is more inclined to be chubby than any of her siblings. Alexandria’s eyes are very alert, always scrutinizing something, as though she’s determined to see straight through it. While she’ll certainly be pretty when she grows up, that look never leaves her eyes, and it’s a little unnerving.

Personality: A demanding and inquisitive child, Alexandria is nonetheless a social butterfly. She loves meeting new people, and learning as much about them as she can. Something in her manner is a bit offputting; she can be brusque, and is always asking questions. Nonetheless, she is in love with the world, seeing possibilities in everything, and never takes anything at face-value. She is very independent, and intensely driven to succeed at whatever she does.

Special Talents: She’s an artist. As a toddler, she developed a habit of scribbling on walls, and as she grows she turns to canvasses and crayons. Alexandria is always drawing, and isn’t half-bad at it, either.

Who they like better: Alexandria isn’t terribly close to either of her parents, preferring her array extended family (Aunt Athena and Uncle Alexei are great favorites). When it comes down to it, she probably likes her father more, because he never speaks down to her, and is always very forthright. With Tatiana, she often feels like she’s being silently disapproved of.

Who they take after more: She’s inherited an even split, but it probably comes down to her mother. Alexandria likes to be in charge; more specifically, she likes bossing people around. She’s also a natural organizer with a head for numbers and facts, and can keep situations under control. That’s pure Tatya. She has a sensitive side which is kept carefully hidden, and though she’s a chatterbox, loves a bit of quiet after a long day; this, at least, she gets from Peridan.

Personal Head canon: Completely tone deaf, but one of her favorite things is singing at the top of her lungs. Her parents are considering sound-proofing her bedroom, expressly for this purpose.

Face Claim: McKenna Grace / Emily Rudd / SIM

Name: Valentina “Tina” Rys

Gender: Female

General Appearance: As the twin of Alexandra, Valentina shares her appearance in more respects; her eyes incline more towards blue than grey, and she wears her hair up in braids and elaborate styles more often than her sister. Valentina is neater in general, and always likes to look her best.

Personality: A sensitive soul, Valentina takes a while to open up to anyone; when she does, she blooms like a flower. Though less imaginative than her elder siblings, she has an intricate personal world, and lets very few people in. Her sense of humor is off-beat and bubbling; she laughs easily, and when she smiles, the world seems brighter. Valentina has a very warm heart, and is never happier than when the people around her are in harmony.

Special Talents: Valentina is a skilled dancer, with an inclination towards ballet, though she can dance anything under the sun. (Does she make her father dance with her? Absolutely.) She is also a talented hostess; her tea parties, featuring Moffy the Green Bear and Edelweiss the Frog, are legendary.

Who they like better: She has a soft spot for her father; while she’s fundamentally similar to her mother, she and Peridan share the same heart, and can see eye-to-eye on most things. It helps that Peridan dotes on her, and she can always convince him to join her games. When any of the children need something from their father, they always send Valentina to handle it.

Who they take after more: Her mother, definitely --- Valentina is almost a replica of Tatiana’s personality at an early age. They share the same gentleness, the same natural reserve and charm, the same hopeful temperament and deep-down practicality. It is impossible not to see her mother in her.

Personal Head canon: Suffered from debilitating nightmares for about a year, where no therapy could help. Anytime she woke up screaming --- at least three times a week --- Peridan was the only one who could calm her down.

Face Claim: McKenna Grace / Emily Rudd / SIM

Name: Nicholas “Kolya” Rys

Gender: Male

General Appearance: He’s inherited the blue eyes of his father, with a slight curl to his dark hair characteristic of his mother at a young age. As an adult, Kolya will be slender, but in childhood he was often considered too bony, losing weight far easier than he kept it on. The mirror twin of Maxim, he is right handed, with a clockwise curl to his hair, and his father’s strong jaw.

Personality: A serious child, it’s hard not to see how Nicholas takes after his father. He is a bookworm, inclined towards subjects too old for his age; even if he does not comprehend everything, he wants to. When he speaks to adults, he often seems older than his age; then he smiles, and is suddenly a little boy again. Nicholas is on the quieter side, and prefers to keep his emotions to himself, but he feels things keenly.

Special Talents: Has a photographic memory, a natural talent for languages, and dogs love him.

Who they like better: Honestly, he loves his father --- sometimes, he’s even been called his father’s shadow. Nicholas enjoys nothing more than to follow him around while he’s working, silently observing everything his father does. He also finds Peridan hilarious. On the rare occasions Peridan makes a joke, his son almost falls over laughing. Inheriting Peridan’s sense of humor is not an awesome thing, and no one’s totally sure how it happened.

Who they take after more: Definitely Peridan, though he has a bit of Tatiana’s temperament mixed in there too. He’s very shy, which is more like Peridan, but has a very generous soul with a lot to give, like Tatya. When it comes to actual behavior, though (and gloominess) he’s pretty much his father’s mini-me. (It might just be the namesake, but sometimes it frightens Tatiana how much Kolya reminds her of her own father.)

Personal Head canon: Absolutely has kept pets his parents have known nothing about. Nicholas has a habit of keeping secrets, and he’s so unassuming no one would suspect him of anything... until his mother opens his bedroom closet, and a whole-ass goose struts out. (She runs away in terror.)

Face Claim: Iain Armitage / Wes Brown / SIM

Name: Maxim Rys

Gender: Male

General Appearance: Twin to older brother Nicholas, he is basically his brother’s mirror image; his hair curls counter-clockwise, and he is left-handed, as opposed to his brother’s right. Maxim is rarely seen not grinning, with a natural gap between his two front teeth, and he often wears bruises from scuffling with his two hot-headed elder siblings.

Personality: A force of nature, Maxim often overwhelms the people around him; he can be a bit too much. Though blessed with limitless energy, his attention is hard to hold in one place for too long. If there’s something he shouldn’t touch, he will touch it; if there’s something he shouldn’t do, he’ll do it. Max enjoys pushing boundaries, seeing how far he can go. He also has a sharp, natural sense of humor, and a love of mischief. It’s hard to keep up with him, and sometimes a little dangerous.

Special Talents: He can say the alphabet backwards, fall from very high places without breaking anything (he lands like a cat) and once hid a frog in his mother’s purse without her noticing for a solid hour. Chaos. Chaos is his talent.

Who they like better: It’s easier to get under his mother’s skin, so he’s naturally a little inclined towards her. His father doesn’t respond as well to his jokes, only getting very quiet and stern, leaving Max feeling like he’s disappointed him. It’s hard to relate to his father; they have very little in common.

Who they take after more: Oh god… neither one. Neither of them. Anastasia, honestly, though Tatiana almost cries when she realizes it. She never wanted to raise her sister --- but Max’s talent for mischief and his wicked sense of humor can’t come from anyone else. Peridan sees a lot of his own adopted sister in him, too... which makes sense, seeing how Athena adores him.

Personal Head canon: Probably has a criminal record by the time he’s twenty-one, but can usually talk his way out of trouble.

Face Claim: Iain Armitage / Wes Brown / SIM

#splitcrown #(( this is... Evil ))#(( too many babies ))

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corvidfoxx · 6 years

Text

a psa

imma keep it real with u chief someone’s size is such a DUMB way to measure literally anything else ab them like?? it’s says fuckin nothing about their health or attractiveness or worth or ANYTHING like guess what folks!! u can tell exactly Nothing from a persons size except what their size is like It Just Is What It Is these are FACTS

fellas it’s late as hell and we love some sleep deprived body positivity in this house lets get into it shall we

(it’s gonna be long Get Ready)

first of all everyone carries weight differently some people are just naturally bigger and bro it’s all good?? who fuckin cares?? bodies just kinda do what they do why do we care so much about controlling our flesh prisons let em work let em live if someone is alive their body is doing what it’s gotta do it’s not that deep

and i mean G O D clothing sizes are. such BULLSHIT like they change so much from store to store and even in a store they can differ WILDLY like?? if ur size isn’t what u want it to be it’s ok bb i promise it literally means nothing live ur life ily

seriously tho clothes are made to look good on models mannequins and hangers like that shit’s just supposed to make money it’s literally not made to actually look good on u 99% of the time so don’t worry ab it there’s nothing wrong with u it’s just capitalism

also weight lowkey means nothing either unless ur a doctor or smth like muscle n fat both make u heavier and u literally don’t know what’s what unless u get all sciency so uhh if ur like exercising or w/e to try and lose weight but ur still gaining it there’s a good chance at least some is muscle

and even if it’s not it’s chill there’s nothin wrong with not being super toned n shit like come on

literally just stop weighing urself ur all good i promise leave that shit to ur doctor bud

also also why tf are people so obsessed with health when it comes to someone’s body?? like bitch u don’t KNOW what’s healthy for someone else??? plenty of people are perfectly healthy even tho they look like what some people would assume is an “unhealthy person” and that’s ok bc ur appearance says nothing ab ur health!!

like even if someone’s not healthy it’s no one else’s fuckin business?? leave that to them and their doctor pal

maybe they have a condition that makes being “healthy” really hard or impossible

or maybe they’re trying to be healthy and just not there yet bc it takes TIME and that’s OKAY patience is great y’all

or maybe they’re just cool with being unhealthy and like,, u might not agree with that but it’s none of ur damn business?? like u don’t have to agree with it or encourage it to just. let em live their life??

tbh health is so fucking worshipped it’s wild and ig it’s with sorta good intentions at least sometimes but damn chill someone’s health doesn’t dictate their worth unhealthy people are still worthy human beings u guys are just mean

just sayin the whole health obsession has ironically lead to a lotta super unhealthy diet/fitness crazes and uhh we, collectively, as a society, need to chill and let people do what’s right for them

like just so we’re clear diet culture can choke

im. so tired of seeing fitspo and thinspo and all that bs everywhere like?? people have such an obsession with dissatisfaction it’s so weird???

we’re always trying to be something else and it’s not good it’s not healthy!!!! can we please focus less on how we want to look and start appreciating how great we already are???

y’all have no idea how much happier i became with how i look when i stopped looking at all these people who looked how i wanted to look and started finding people who look like me now???

bb there are so many people who look like u and who are killin the game find em and love em!!!!!! it might not totally change how u see urself but it’ll help i promise!!!!!!

and like?? anyone who says people can’t be attractive if they’re a certain size is LYING and can go piss their pants for all i care

LISTEN i literally have no preferences when it comes to physical stuff and ive fallen for people of all different shapes and sizes and When I Tell You They’ve All Been Damn Gorgeous I Mean 110% Of Them

i’m so tired of all this backhanded compliment “attractive despite their size” shit like NO BITCH If You Think I Dont Think Every Inch Of These People Head To Toe Is Hot As Fuck You Have Another Thing Coming Bc Holy SHIT That’s Just How It Is Folks

like bb i promise even if u don’t like ur body plenty of people are gonna think it’s fuckin Great u might not know it or believe it rn but it’s the Truth ur beautiful ilysm keep being ur gorgeous self

and u know what?? even if some people don’t think ur attractive that’s ok too?? like ur fuckin killin it either way ur not required to make other people happy with the way u look like as long as ur comfy in ur own body ur ok!!

insecurity is lowkey 99% about what other people think and i totally get that like bitch me too tf but like,, the truth is other people don’t mean shit!!!!!!

it’s ur body babe if ur happy with it that’s great that’s perfect!!!!!!! and if ur not it’s totally ok to want to change that but do it for u bud you’ll be much happier in the end i promise

like it’s hard to get over trying to look how u think people want u to look but at the end of the day they ain’t shit and if u change for them ur not gonna be happy so??

do it for u do it so u can be happy in ur own skin like fuck everyone else make urself happy

(also people seem to think partners are an exception to the “other people ain’t shit” rule but honestly?? if ur s/o makes u feel bad ab ur appearance fuck them in particular?? like u don’t need that shit u don’t need to change for them u deserve someone who thinks ur gorgeous Right Now As You Are find that person and you’ll be way happier like highkey if ur partner doesn’t think 110% of u is gorgeous dump em they don’t know shit)

and like,, all this shit (size n health n appearance n shit) literally says jack fuckin squat about ur self worth???

who cares how big or small u are who cares how healthy u are who cares how conventionally attractive u are????? ur still a fckin fantastic person and u deserve the world?????

u still deserve to be hella confident and u deserve to never feel like u have to hide urself and u deserve to live a wonderful life no matter what ur body is!!!!!!! ur body has never and will never decide ur worth or what u deserve!!!!!!!

ur not a bad person just bc ur not a supermodel or w/e!!!!!!!! ur not doing anything wrong i promise ur doing great!!!!!!!! u still deserve all the happiness in the world and i hope u find it!!!!!!!!!

#had to slide in a cut bc this shit got LONG #and like. this is coming from someone who's objectively pretty small so i only have so much personal experience on this stuff #(like ofc i have a fuckload of insecurities ab my body but still)#like ive just followed the whole body positivity movement for so long and i support it so fuckin hard and i have a lot of Thoughts (clearly)#and i saw an asshole making some douchey comments and it made me Angry so i figured the best use of that Angry Energy #was just to spill some super positive tea idk #river.txt #important

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its-love-u-asshole · 7 years

Text

Slipping Underneath [Ch. 1]

Pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Tsukishima was in some deep shit he realized, but common sense told him he should have been rather happy about the discovery he'd just made. Of course, that didn't stop him from freaking out.

"Tsukki? Did something happen?" Bokuto asked.

Dejected, the blond lifted his head, giving Bokuto the flattest stare he could manage. "The neighbor downstairs hates my voice."

Rating: T

Tags: soulmates, mythology/sirens AU, some iwaoi and bokuaka thrown in bc why not, first meetings, fluff, Kuroo is a nerd and Tsukki can’t help but be charmed, Siren!Tsukki, Siren!Bokuto

Note: Yes, I know I started another multichapter, I’m sorry, please forgive these sins of mine. I couldn’t resist a sirens/soulmate AU tho?? I had the sudden inspo and ofc this was born, enjoy! <3 Big thanks to @allykat023 and @emeraldwaves for reading this over!

AO3

The first time he heard the voice, it was because he'd been marooned on the patio of his apartment. His apartment. It was almost more degrading than when he was sexiled to the common room of his freshman dorms. He was a third year now though, this was his own property damnit.

When Kenma had decided to move into a place with Hinata, Kuroo had been forced to room with a certain overly social setter. He liked Oikawa, he really did. Well, when he wasn't being too dramatic or nosy anyways...

They got along fine, great actually. It was only when Iwaizumi visited from his university every other weekend that Kuroo found himself setting up camp on his spacious, yet boring as hell balcony.

At least the glass was thick enough to drown out any noise...

Kuroo shuddered, remembering the time he'd ventured inside for a glass of water, walking past Oikawa's bedroom...

Yeah, no. He'd learned a lot since then, had come a long way from his days as a young fool (three months ago). Now he prepared his food and drink ahead of time, almost like he was going on a picnic. This way, he never had to hear those...sounds come from Oikawa's room ever again. Even worse, Kuroo was not about to deal with Oikawa's smug face in the morning, knowing he heard everything. At least Iwaizumi had the decency to be embarrassed and smack Oikawa across the head.

So yeah, patio.

It sounded crappy, but despite the loud sex Oikawa seemed bent on having, Kuroo didn't really mind being relocated for a few hours. It gave him time to study, since he was without television or outlets. It was exactly what he needed, and he could count on those nights outside to get all his coursework done for the following week. It was a brutal study session, but it was worth it. While everyone else struggled to catch up on assignments during the week, he could go out, and play video games to his heart's content. Oikawa said he needed to get laid; and while it might've been true, Kuroo wasn't compelled to actively look for a partner right then. If something happened, it happened.

So when the usual Oikawa and Iwaizumi sex marathon finally came along one fateful Saturday night later than usual, Kuroo swore it was fate.

Kuroo had taken his usual chair on the patio, satisfied the weather wasn't too muggy for once. Perfect for studying. He had set out all his highlighters and pens, ready as ever for a night of expert note taking, but as he sank into the chair's cushions with his psychology textbook sitting on his lap, he'd heard it.

And oh how he wish he hadn't.

The melody, if it could be called that, invaded his space, punching his ear drums. The pure horribleness of the voice as it sang was enough to make his head shoot up, his ears straining and begging Kuroo to get away. It was awful enough to make him wonder if someone could die from it. The voice was bad, if he was being nice about it; and oh, he was really trying to be nice about it. But it made his brain melt, and all thoughts of studying disintegrated in favor of escape. Even the sounds of Oikawa getting pounded into the bed were a better option than this torture.

Kuroo almost felt guilty. After all, this was just some random soul who wanted to sing on their balcony. Kuroo had no say in it, and it wasn't like Kuroo's voice was anything to brag about. He should just grin and bear it, but...

Jesus fuck.

How could he possibly work through such a horrid sound?

It was a guy's voice, that much he could tell despite the screeching quality of it. As Kuroo stood to try and find the source though, he became confused. There was no one on either of the balconies beside his, and every second the song persisted, the harder it was to trace it. It was like the sound was all encompassing, coming from every direction at once, burning Kuroo's ear canals and twisting his insides. How was no one else hearing it?

There were quite a few guys loitering around down below the apartments, but they looked like they were having a fine time, blissful even.

Where the hell...

Was he getting pranked?

The song continued as he searched, the rough tones pulling Kuroo like a magnet even though his ears were probably bleeding. Oh well, he still had his eyes. Maybe the price of hearing aids had gone down...

Focus man!

Kuroo groaned, trying to employ the problem solving skills he'd spent years cultivating.

Eventually, and mostly because he couldn't take it anymore, he figured the only place it could be coming from was above him. There was one floor up after his, and since the apartments were dirt cheap, there was hardly any space between them. Risks be damned, Kuroo jumped up without hesitation, grabbing hold of the higher balcony's railing and using his strength to pull himself up. It might've been stupid, and shit he definitely could've fallen to his death. However, that song would drive him nuts and kill him anyways if he allowed it to continue.

Please...make it stop...

Kuroo groaned as he found his footing, easily hooking his legs over the rails after doing so. He was out of breath, and he dared not look at how high up he was or think about how the fuck he was going to get back down. He'd made it. He'd figure the rest out as he went.

As soon as he'd plopped down on the railing, the banshee screeching had ceased, and Kuroo thought he was gonna cry in relief.

Thank god.

Wiping the sweat on his brow, Kuroo looked up, scanning the small patio in seconds until his eyes finally landed on the apartment's inhabitant.

And wow, what a sight.

The blond was frozen where he stood, watering can in hand as he moved to rearrange a pot of tulips, one leg stretched out awkwardly in front of him like he'd been mid-step.

Even in such a ridiculous pose, Kuroo could say the blond was nothing short of stunning. Long legs, pale skin, and warm, golden eyes hidden behind black frames.

He was breathtaking, and Kuroo almost refused to believe such an awful sound had come from such a beauty. Kuroo felt his protests and excuses die in his throat, partly from the fact he was standing in front of a god, and partly because his position did not look good.

Here he was, in stained sweatpants and a sweatshirt, looking like some pathetic second rate burglar while his runway model neighbor seemed two seconds away from running.

It would've been hilarious, had the blond not looked like he was debating on whether to stab Kuroo with the nearby trowel before he left.

Somehow, the thought of a death by garden tool shook Kuroo out of whatever trance he was in, because he managed to find his voice a few seconds later.

"Okay," he began, gradually stepping onto the patio, his ears ringing from their previous abuse. "I know this looks bad, but your singing--"

All of a sudden, the blond groaned, his scowl powerful enough to kill a weaker man. Fearlessly, he grabbed the trowel--called it--and held it up in Kuroo's direction, the threat clear. Come closer, die.

It should not have been as hot as it was.

"How many times do I have to tell you people I'm not interested? Fuck off," the blond hissed, his annoyance clear. Although, given the situation, he was a lot more composed than Kuroo expected. If this was how the other responded to break ins, he was a lot better off than he and Oikawa.

The blond lowered his voice to a mumble, speaking almost to himself rather than to Kuroo as the awkwardness between them intensified. "To think not even living on the top floor helped..."

Huh?

Okay, Kuroo had to find his voice right then and there, lest he be charged with trespassing.

"Um wait, I can explain," Kuroo said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I was just--ha, I was trying to study...I live below you by the way so uh, hey there. I'm Kuroo Tetsurou."

Kuroo grinned, hoping his charm would help to win the other over, but all it got him was the most unimpressed stare he'd ever seen. The blond's eye twitched in irritation, his aura just as menacing as before.

Yet still so pretty.

"I don't care who you are, get off my balcony," the other demanded, not letting up on his threatening pose.

Kuroo sighed. Today really wasn't his day. To think he couldn't reassure people as well as he used to...

He'd really have to work on his debate skills if he wanted to pass his public speaking class.

"Ah okay, okay! Sorry, I'll leave. I just came up here because your singing...it was a bit distracting and--"

"I don't want a boyfriend," the blond deadpanned, his scowl deepening.

Oh wow alright, that's random.

Kuroo shook his head, trying to decide what was the next best course of action, considering none of what he wanted to say was getting across. Better just to be upfront about it.

"Um okay, me neither. I mean, I'm not opposed, and you look...wow but shit wait--" Kuroo went on uselessly, and he was getting pretty damn tired of tripping over his own tongue. Not cool. Groaning up to the sky, he clasped his hands together, fixing the blond with the sternest look he could muster. "I just came to ask you if you could please stop singing. It’s making it hard to study, and I need to get this work done."

Kuroo said it so fast, he was worried the blond didn't hear him, especially from the way silence seemed to descend on them again, the other blinking at him in shock. Ah shit, there's the guilt.

The thing was, Kuroo couldn't justify himself beyond that. It wasn't that the singing was just distracting, it was downright terrible, but he was way too nice to come out and say it. He prayed the other would stop without asking too many questions.

The blond's face contorted several times, each expression no less attractive on the other's face, no matter how displeased they were. From shock, to anger, and then back to shock. The other's face eventually settled on pure confusion.

The silence was moving into painful territory now, and Kuroo thought he was was better off retreating to his own apartment, Oikawa's atrocious sex moans be damned.

The blond blinked slowly, his hands lowering until the trowel fell to the floor, the loud clang echoing into the night air. "You...want me to stop singing?"

His voice was bland, cold, but Kuroo could pick up on slightest note of disbelief in there too. It made him wince. Great, this was what he'd wanted to avoid. He had to be careful now, the last thing he wanted was a neighbor who hated his guts.

"Yeah...sorry. I mean it's not like I'm a music critic or anything I mean--"

"Why?" The blond's question was sharp, straight to the point, asking the question Kuroo desperately didn't want to answer. Kuroo only prayed this guy wasn't too sensitive about this kind of thing. He didn't want another ex-theater kid lecturing him about how he couldn't recognize true talent. Been there, done that.

To be blunt or to lie...

Damn his own morals. "It wasn't to my tastes...I guess?" It was so painful I wanted to rip my ears off. "But I'm sure it definitely is to some people." Demons. "I for sure can't sing so--"

"You thought it was bad."

It was less curious and more certain, like an observation, and Kuroo started to feel a bit uncomfortable (and maybe weirdly excited) under the blond's gaze. Those golden eyes might as well have been boring into his soul, searching for...well, he didn't know.

Kuroo swallowed. "Well--"

"Yes or no."

The irritation from the blond was more than noticeable now; and whatever, Kuroo had already botched this whole encounter. "Yeah, it...it wasn't great."

So much for getting this guy's number. Kuroo felt himself deflate a little, expecting the other to start coming at him with much deserved insults. Only, it didn't happen. At all.

The blond nodded his head slowly, and Kuroo's fully recovered hearing picked up on his shaky exhale. Kuroo thought he could read people pretty well based on their mannerisms and expressions, but he didn't have a clue what any of that meant. It was like the blond was shocked, but trying his damn best to not show it.

There was another beat of tense silence before the other seemed to snap out of his daze, his scowl returning tenfold. Kuroo stopped breathing.

"Fine, I'll stop. Can you leave now?"

Kuroo blinked, exhaling all at once as the blond turned his back to him. It was a clear gesture, one Kuroo had no problem reading, and yeah...he'd overstayed his welcome.

Definitely not getting that number.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Thanks..." Kuroo trailed off stiffly, sparing the other one last glance and noticing the tenseness of his shoulders. The guilt was back again, but Kuroo knew trying to fix the situation now wouldn't help. He'd apologize properly some other time.

Turning his attention back to the railing, Kuroo scaled down the balcony back onto his own, his thoughts filled with nothing but his neighbor's face for the rest of the night.

This was not good.

Tsukishima stared at the wall as the cake on his plate sat untouched, piping exquisite and begging to be devoured. To think he was actually too distracted to eat dessert. Yeah, not good at all. Absurd too, stupid even. There was no reason for him to be freaking out.

In spite, he glared down at his cake, picking up his fork before stabbing the soft sponge and shoveling a good half of the piece into his mouth. Motherfucker.

The cake tasted sweet, moist with rich frosting and just the right ratio of sponge to cream. It embodied everything he could've wanted from a dessert, and yet his face still set itself in a sour expression.

Tsukishima stomped his foot on the floor, as if it would somehow affect the neighbor below him. The one with the atrocious bedhead, the cause of all his problems.

Annoying.

"Tsukishima, is something wrong?" Akaashi's smooth voice, calm and expectant--because yes, he probably knew there was indeed something wrong--forced Tsukishima out of his thoughts.

Tsukishima glanced up to the kitchen island where Akaashi sat, his posture far too elegant for someone wearing owl patterned sweats. It didn't stop him from being observant though. Tsukishima probably should've been more careful about it; but at the same time, he knew the other would find out eventually.

After more prolonged silence, Akaashi prodded further, knowing it was usually the only way to nudge Tsukishima. “Because you know you can tell me.”

For some reason, it made Tsukishima sigh into the space between them, knowing he’d have to get this off his chest if he wanted to stay sane. Plus, there wasn’t any harm in it.

Tsukishima kept his friend group small yes; but that also meant he held a decent degree of trust for each of the people in it. Akaashi was the best person to go to with these issues anyways, since he tended to be the most rational.

Yamaguchi always shed a good light on things, but he was away at another university. And besides, the freckled boy tended to lean more towards an overly optimistic approach which Tsukishima wasn't too fond of pursuing at this point. He had to be sure first, and even then...he didn't owe anything to anyone.

Setting down his fork, Tsukishima fixed the other with the most neutral stare he could manage, lest he give anything away too soon. Tsukishima clenched his fists, his dull nails managing to leave imprints in his palm. This was humiliating, but he needed to know.

"Akaashi," he began, steeling himself as he willed away another scowl. "Would you mind...listening to me sing?"

The other's grey eyes widened considerably, an unusual event when considering Akaashi's calm nature. “Oh, well…”

Yeah, Tsukishima knew the question was unexpected. He didn’t blame his friend for the shock.

Tsukishima hated singing. It was his least favorite thing to do, if it made the damn list at all. Not to say he didn't love music, but singing was a different story. It attracted attention, it brought unwanted advances. He associated singing with everyone's eyes on him, and he loathed it more than anything. Yet, he couldn't help but sing. It came so damn naturally to him, to the point that sometimes he wasn't aware he was even doing it until someone came up to him.

Or climbed his balcony.

Ugh.

That was the thing...

At the end of the day, he didn't have a choice but to sing. He could very well die if he didn't. That's what happened to sirens.

Cursed with fatally beautiful voices, ones which used to lure men to their deaths centuries ago, sirens both thrived and withered due to their gifts. And of course, Tsukishima happened to descend from a community of them. He blamed his mother.

He had been a siren since the day he was born; and his voice had reached maturity sometime in high school, a powerful weapon. Or well, it would've been, had he not lived in the 21st century. Being a siren was pretty useless now, apart from getting hordes of guys to do the occasional bidding, or for winning singing contests.

In addition to his virtually unnecessary gift, being a siren came with a lot of difficulties. If he didn't sing enough, he'd grow sickly and die; and if he sang too much...he could lose his voice completely.

The former was generally what afflicted his kind in the modern age though. And despite his dislike for singing, it wasn't a problem. Tsukishima had grown used to singing in the privacy of his own home to keep healthy.

However...this issue was a new one, one he'd hoped to never deal with. Being told his song wasn't calming to the human ear...it worried him.

If a siren's voice was no longer pleasing to humans, it meant the siren could be dying.

Tsukishima's pulse sped up at the thought, his future goals and achievements flashing before his eyes as he willed himself to not jump to conclusions. He wouldn't panic, not until it was confirmed.

Akaashi was a human, one who knew about Tsukishima's predicament. He'd be honest with him.

Tsukishima took a few more deep breaths, feeling the anxiety subside a bit as he forced himself to make eye contact with Akaashi again.

If his balcony hopping neighbor thought his singing had been anything less than perfect and ended up being right, it could be Tsukishima's life on the line. That or it was the alternative, the only other explanation for his singing being atrocious, and Tsukishima refused to entertain that idea without eliminating the other options.

God, kill me.

"Sure," Akaashi began, stunned at Tsukishima's request. "But, why do you--"

"Hey hey!" Bokuto's voice boomed through the humble apartment, the door frame rattling along with the wall as he slammed the door shut. "What's goin on?"

Ah, great.

Akaashi lit up at the sound of his boyfriend, although it was mostly undetectable to anyone who wasn't used to the other's subtle facial changes. To anyone else, Akaashi probably looked bored, but Tsukishima could see him practically glowing.

They were disgusting.

Regardless, even Tsukishima couldn't deny the fact they were hopelessly in love. He'd known Bokuto since childhood, having grown up in the same small community of sirens in their hometown. Bokuto was just like him, albeit way more optimistic in nature. Tsukishima didn't think he could possibly grow any happier, until he'd met Akaashi.

Tsukishima couldn't complain then either, since he'd grown rather close to Bokuto's boyfriend as well.

Tsukishima watched them as Bokuto's hand slid along Akaashi's arm, both of them comfortable with the touch, leaning into each other as if no one else existed in the world.

The peaceful expression on Akaashi's face remained up until Bokuto started to hum in contentment, a habit he had never managed to break. Then the setter's nose was scrunching up in distaste, his eyes flashing as if he'd been struck.

Ah, and there it was.

Akaashi clutched Bokuto's shirt with unrivaled insistence. "Koutarou--"

Bokuto snapped out of his daze, kicked from his reality while the guilt washed over him. He'd gotten better at being mindful, but well, it was a siren's instinct to make music. He was bound to slip up once in a while.

Bokuto cut the humming, and he cradled Akaashi's face in apology, placing a loud kiss to the setter's cheek while Tsukishima focused his gaze on the cracks in the table.

Again, disgusting.

Bokuto's voice radiated nothing but sincerity as he pulled away. "Sorry Keiji, I forgot. It wasn't that bad was it?"

"Mm," Akaashi said, and he shook his head, his smile somewhat amused. "It wasn't. You stopped."

Bokuto fist pumped at the accomplishment, looping his arm around Akaashi's shoulders after he'd fully relaxed. His eyes were back to their normal brightness, the concern gone. "Yes! Soon I'll have that down!"

Tsukishima rolled his eyes along with Akaashi, but it was full of fondness.

"Anyways, what are we talkin' bout?" Bokuto slouched further into his chair, his wide eyes homing in on Tsukishima's unfinished cake. "Obviously there's a reason you haven't devoured that."

"Tsukishima wants to sing for me," Akaashi said, tone concerned in a way which made Tsukishima feel silly for actually bringing his issue up. Maybe he was overreacting. "Why--"

"Tsukki," Bokuto hissed, standing up so quickly Tsukishima flinched, his golden eyes focusing in on the blond with an almost predator like accuracy. "Are you trying to seduce Keiji?"

The silence between them would've been comical had Tsukishima had any patience for Bokuto that day.

Are you serious?

Sensing Tsukishima's growing murderous intent, Akaashi jumped in, soothing his boyfriend with a touch to the shoulder. "Koutarou...I doubt that's what's happening."

"But--"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Tsukishima said through gritted teeth. "Can you just listen to me sing? I'll explain after."

Bokuto's sharp gaze morphed into puppy dog eyes in a flash, his mouth forming a pout as if he'd been told he'd be sleeping outside. Tsukishima didn't necessarily like making Bokuto feel bad, after all, they'd grown up together. He was used to Bokuto, found his mannerisms to be rather endearing even, but Tsukishima couldn't take any more interruptions.

To say he was freaking out was an understatement. He had to know what was wrong.

Akaashi's brow furrowed, the concern clearly there, and he nodded. Bokuto must've also sensed the rapid mood change, since he sat down without much complaint, eyes never leaving the blond's.

Well, here goes.

It had been years since Tsukishima had sang for an audience, even for Bokuto, one of his own kind, but he couldn't get shy now. Taking a deep breath, Tsukishima closed his eyes, letting the words flow out of his mouth until he spun a melody all his own.

"Take my hand, come towards the sea, and with every wave, you'll be safe with me. Don't fear the crash, don't mind the rocks, just know I'll guide you past it all."

The notes formed, slow and sure, and the orchestra in Tsukishima's head began to pick up, the assigned parts and instruments knowing exactly where to jump in, where to fit. This song he knew better than any other, had let it travel and burn itself into his soul. The song flowed, the notes amplified. Sometimes they faded into nothingness, lost in the sea of music he created.

And really, this was what he did love about singing at the end of the day. Not putting people under a spell, not enticing men to do his bidding—though in his high school years it had been fun. No, it was the melodies and magic of the song itself. It calmed him, washed away any troubles until he was like the barren shore. Peaceful, cool, but so alive beneath the surface.

Even someone like him, with his rationality and cynicism couldn't deny any of that.

This he could do forever, but his time might've very well been up, and the thought cruelly brought an end to the lightness in his chest.

Tsukishima ceased, clearing his throat as he opened his eyes. Akaashi hadn't asked him to stop the whole time, so he assumed it was a good sign, but who knew. Sometimes Tsukishima got too lost in his own music, he wouldn't have noticed. Maybe it was so bad, the raven had left the room in agony, or--

"Tsukishima."

His eyes snapped up to meet Akaashi's, catching the sight of dilated pupils as Akaashi came down from the high which sirens could elicit. The haze was still there, the spell just barely starting to undo itself. Akaashi shook his head rapidly, attempting to snap out of it for good.

Bokuto sat next to him, pouting with his arms crossed. Baby.

"Sorry, I feel like my brain turned off for a second there," Akaashi said, holding a hand to his head as his mind began to work again. "I'm not sure what you're worried about though. Your singing is as good as ever, as I'm sure you could see from the effects..."

Tsukishima sighed audibly, uncaring of what his friends thought. He slouched in his chair, the tension rolling out of him. He wasn't dying. His voice was appealing to humans. Nothing about it had changed, and he was going to be okay. His life wasn't over.

Tsukishima felt his relief for about two more seconds before the panic set in. The other panic, the one which came from the alternative reason he had to be worried about his voice.

His singing was fine; it had the same effects it had always had. It was enticing, alluring even. The only human who thought otherwise, lived right below him.

No.

That guy, his neighbor, with his untamed hair and impressive strength. The one who had no qualms about trespassing on someone else's property, the one too polite for his own good.

He had hated Tsukishima's voice. He had been physically pained by the sound of it, and that only meant one thing. Tsukishima wasn't an idiot, he knew. He'd been warned about this all his life.

He'd fucking seen it happen. At the thought, his eyes shot up to Bokuto and Akaashi, looking between them like a starved animal.

Oh no. No. No, nope, not happening.

Bokuto turned to his boyfriend, the peeved expression having never left his face. "Hmph, I can sing just as good Akaashi! I--"

"Yes, yes," Akaashi cut Bokuto off with the softest of smiles, though the amusement was apparent. Tsukishima couldn't take any joy in it, or return the smile Akaashi threw him. "I'm sure you can. Too bad I'll never know."

And it was true. Akaashi would never think Bokuto's singing was anything but atrocious, torturous in fact. Such was the way of a siren's soulmate. The one person who couldn't stand a siren's song was the person they were meant to fall in love with.

I'm going to be sick.

"It's not fair! Tsukishima doesn't even know what it's like," Bokuto ranted, unaware of the internal crisis going on right across the table. "I can't wait til he meets his soulmate, and they think his singing is awf--"

"I don't have a soulmate," Tsukishima said, his voice sharp. He'd been unable to stop himself. He couldn't help it. The realization was barely settling in, boiling inside him. It couldn't be. It was a mistake. "There's no way...."

His neighbor was not his soulmate. It wasn't possible. They didn't know each other at all, Tsukishima had no idea if they were compatible in any way, shape, or form. And while Tsukishima's brain unhelpfully pointed out how it was that way for most people, Tsukishima was bent on finding any reason to nullify this new finding.

This guy had just had hearing issues...or something.

Tsukishima put his head in his hands, knowing he was being childish at this point. He heard Bokuto's chair move, a sign he had gotten up, and seconds later he was most definitely crouched at Tsukishima's side, radiating warmth.

"Tsukki? Did something happen?" Bokuto asked, and it was so unbelievably caring, Tsukishima couldn't take it.

Dejected, the blond lifted his head, giving Bokuto the flattest stare he could manage. "The neighbor downstairs hates my voice."

Saying it aloud hit it home, and Tsukishima's body sagged in defeat, his stomach swirling in irritation and...something else he didn't want to think about. He didn't get butterflies. That was not happening.

Despite the part of him which continued to hope this was all a misunderstanding, he already knew how this would go down from Akaashi's shocked expression and Bokuto's excited cheering. This problem was not going away.

Not by a long shot.

It wasn't until Tsukishima was getting his mail the next morning that they met again.

"Hey there," Kuroo said, leaning against the mailboxes with no qualms about keeping a reasonable distance between them. Tsukishima jumped slightly, slamming his box shut a bit too loudly for the hour, stunned by the intensity of the other's eyes.

Well, that and whatever was going on with his hair.

Tsukishima debated walking away without responding, but he felt like this guy wasn't the type to let something like this go. He'd climbed a damn balcony after all; he was obviously capable of being quite persistent if he had something he needed to say.

"Morning," Tsukishima muttered, focusing on the various bills and letters in his hand instead of falling into the trap of the other's stare. It was shockingly difficult, and it pissed him off more. He wasn't supposed to like this guy, despite every other indication that he should. Tsukishima was a stubborn asshole sometimes. If this guy was so special, he could prove it to Tsukishima the old fashioned way. The blond refused to make it easy.

Yet, there were some things he couldn't ignore. Tsukishima used pushing up his glasses as an excuse to sneak a peek at the other every now and again, and yeah fine, he was handsome. Broad shoulders, strong physique, a teasing smile...

It was irritating for a variety of different reasons, but mostly because Tsukishima couldn't find it in himself to hate this guy, a complete stranger.

"So look," Kuroo said, his easy going posture taking a turn towards awkward, embarrassed even. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweats, rocking on his heels. "I'm sorry if I offended you the other night. I seriously didn't mean to, it wasn't my--"

"It's fine, it doesn't matter," Tsukishima said, his tone brisk. He tried not to let the flush rise to his cheeks, but he felt like he'd lost that battle from the way Kuroo grinned at him. And well, it was true. It didn't matter. Tsukishima was stubborn, but he wasn't about to blame Kuroo for something he couldn't control. Tsukishima's voice was truly painful for him, and he couldn't resist wanting the pain to stop.

The fact Kuroo actually apologized for his rudeness despite that made Tsukishima's stomach flip, a pleasant tingling traveling up his spine. Tsukishima looked up at Kuroo fully then, causing him to flush in a much similar fashion.

God. This was stupid.

"Ah well, cool. Great!" Kuroo cleared his throat, rifling a hand through his hair. Cute. "Because since we're neighbors and all, I wanted to make sure we...got along."

"Oh?" Tsukishima arched a brow, and he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards involuntarily. "I didn't realize we were school children."

Kuroo faltered, his eyes widening as if he were a child, and Tsukishima had to hide his smile behind his hand. "Oh, well--"

"And it's not like we're roommates, so there's really no requirement for us to get along," he continued, keeping his voice as level as possible, almost bored. What he said was true after all, but he also just wanted to give the other a hard time. Again, Tsukishima was not going to make this easy. This was who the fates had given him as a soulmate, the one who they thought was there to bring out the best in him. If he couldn't handle this, then Tsukishima would know the universe had made a mistake.

Tsukishima wasn't the easiest to impress. He had high walls which took a fair amount of time to climb over, but it wasn't an impossible feat.

As much as the idea of soulmates intimidated him and made him skeptical, he wouldn't push away a connection if there was meant to be one. He'd grown a lot from his standoffish, cold high school days. He had Bokuto and Akaashi, as well as his family, and he cared for them immensely. However, those connections were natural, not forced.

He'd accept nothing less from anyone, not even his predestined lover.

Kuroo stared at him for a second too long in Tsukishima's opinion, analyzing him. He was fairly shameless about it too, considering the few times Tsukishima caught him glancing below the neck.

Kuroo knew it too, from the way he smirked, slow and leisurely. He knew exactly what he was doing, making his flirtiness clear. What a dork. This side of him had been absent when he'd climbed Tsukishima's damn balcony. Although, he'd said Tsukishima looked "wow," so that was a good indication.

Tsukishima felt his cheeks heat up more, and he cursed himself. So unacceptable.

"What if I want to get along?" Kuroo asked, and wow did he wink at me. He fucking winked at me.

"Then maybe you shouldn't have broken into my apartment."

"Hey! It was just the balcony."

"Trespassing."

"I'm a model citizen."

"Leaving the scene of a crime."

"You asked me to leave!"

"And who will the police trust?" Tsukishima shrugged, not bothering to hide a smirk of his own now that he had Kuroo floundering. It wasn't everyday he found someone who he could banter with so smoothly. Kuroo was downright ridiculous though.

"You're evil you know that?" Kuroo's grin betrayed his words as he spoke, and Tsukishima neither confirmed nor denied the accusation. "Wouldn't have expected that from someone with tulips on their back porch."

Tsukishima grunted while Kuroo laughed at his own joke, all too amused with himself. The laugh wasn't full bodied, but it rang genuine regardless, the sound weirdly sweet to Tsukishima's ears whether it was at his expense or not. Kuroo wiped fake tears from his eyes, prompting an eye roll out of the blond.

"Nah, I'm sure gardening is a menacing field. Ha, get it. Fie--"

"I heard it the first time, please don't make me hear it again."

And with that, Tsukishima walked off, all too aware that he was probably now running late for his first class. He glanced over his shoulder, something tugging at him to turn around and look at Kuroo once more.

It was the first of many mistakes. Kuroo was smiling at him, way too fond for someone he'd just met, dopey almost. It stopped the blond dead in his tracks, his breath stalling abnormally. That look...it was neither fair nor logical in any form.

"Hey, what's your name? I don't think I ever asked," Kuroo said with a soft laugh. "Too busy trespassing and what not."

Tsukishima paused, biting his lip. Normally, he wouldn't give the information away, simply because he didn't know Kuroo too well. But part of him felt the weird inevitability surrounding the situation. Not that they'd end up being anything meaningful to each other, but that this wasn't the last time they'd meet.

"Tsukishima Kei," he answered, surprised there was hardly any hesitation there. It was as if it was natural, intimate even, giving Kuroo his name.

So silly honestly, but the fact didn't erase the feeling. Especially not when Kuroo was smiling at him so openly.

"See you around then, Tsukishima."

The blond didn't answer as he turned, but from the way heat traveled to the back of his neck, he figured he didn't have to.

#kurotsuki #kurotsukki #haikyuuwriters #haikyuu!!#adri writing

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